by Spurrier, Jo
Sierra felt empty, cold and weary to the very bone. She’d been awake for some time, but she lacked the strength to move, even just to open her eyes or shift on the sharp needles of prickling spruce. It was only when someone knelt by her side and patted her cheek with an icy hand that Sierra finally roused herself enough to stir with a muffled groan.
At once, the person kneeling over her pulled away, and she heard a soft, girlish voice. ‘My Lady, I think she’s awake. What should I do? Madame said I was to come and tell her at once when she stirred.’
‘Then you must go.’ That was another woman, the tone familiar. Cloth rustled as she stood. ‘But don’t rush. You may not be able to see her at once, in any case. She and Aleksar are meeting with the general.’
The younger girl departed, her footsteps light and quick, and Sierra felt the other woman settle beside her. ‘Sirri, can you hear me? We’re alone for the moment, but be careful. There are guards right outside.’
It took a tremendous effort to open her eyes, and then her vision was too blurred to make out anything more than dark cloth and a flash of red hair. ‘Mira?’ she mumbled.
A tickle inside her skull heralded Rasten’s presence. It took less effort to think than to speak, so Sierra turned her attention to him. What in the Fires Below happened?
That cursed trick you tried to pull blew out your power, Rasten said. I had to draw it away or you might have opened another hot spring under your feet. Between one thing and another, it drained you dry as a desert. You’re lucky you had the strength to keep your heart beating, you wretched little fool.
Anger gave her strength. Sierra drew a deep breath and heaved herself upright, though her arms shook with the effort. I had to do something. Those Gods-forsaken Blood-Mages would have torn them apart —
Before she could finish the thought Rasten pulled away, slamming the connection shut to cut her off.
Blinking furiously, Sierra managed to clear her vision enough to see Mira sitting on her heels in front of her, frowning with concern. ‘Are you alright?’
She nodded, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. ‘Is there anything to eat?’
Mira went to the stove, returning with buttered bread and a bowl of broth. It was more food than Sierra had seen since she’d left Dremman’s camp. Her instincts urged her to bolt it down before someone could snatch it away, but she forced herself to eat one small bite at a time.
‘Sirri, please tell me — is Cam alright? Is he here too?’
Sierra shook her head, and hastily swallowed her mouthful of bread. ‘He’s fine, or he was when I spoke to him two days ago. He’s with Dremman’s army.’
Mira pressed a hand to her chest and sagged with relief. ‘Bright Sun be thanked …’
Sierra sipped the broth, looking around the tent with narrowed eyes. This clearly wasn’t the women’s camp. ‘Where are we? What’s going on?’
Mira recounted the day’s events, as much as she knew of them. ‘These Akharian mages are very powerful — will you be able to keep your power hidden?’
Sierra waved her words aside. ‘I’ve managed this long, haven’t I? What have they found? Is there a way into Demon’s Spire?’
Mira bit her lip. ‘I think so. We won’t be certain till the scouts return. The records the Blood-Mages kept go right back to the War of the Mages. There’s been a cabal hidden in Earthblood ever since, it seems, and they’ve been searching for Vasant’s treasures, too. Isidro and Delphine are presenting their findings to the general.’
Could it be true? Sierra couldn’t let herself hope too fiercely — even if they did find a lead, it could take weeks to track down their prize, weeks more in which she would have to guard herself every moment, only now she had to watch the other slaves as well as the guards and the men who came sniffing around the women’s camp at the meat-market each night. She squeezed her eyes shut, and willed herself to calm. ‘How is he?’
Mira paused for a long moment, so long that Sierra began to think she hadn’t heard. ‘He didn’t know you were here,’ she said at last. ‘He’s taken it hard.’
Her heart clenched, and Sierra quickly looked away. She’d known it would hurt him, but what else could she have done? She couldn’t reach him herself without risk of alerting the Akharian mages to her presence. She could have badgered Rasten into telling him, perhaps, but Rasten was already intensely jealous of her attention towards anyone else. He would have found a way to use it against Isidro, and the last thing Sierra wanted was to give Rasten more power over him after all he’d already suffered. She had other, purely selfish reasons for keeping her presence from him, too — she didn’t want him to worry about her, night after night when the soldiers had their pick of the captive women. She knew what it would do to him to think of her in such a place, and for her own peace of mind, she couldn’t bear to think of it. ‘I’ll make it up to him,’ she muttered, half to herself. ‘I’ll find a way.’
Mira started to speak, but then she paused, tilting her head to listen. ‘I think they’re coming,’ she said. ‘I’d best not be caught slacking. That wretched woman has a frightful temper — I don’t know how Isidro puts up with her.’
He doesn’t have a choice, Sierra thought as Mira went back to her books and notes. None of us do.
She drained the last of the broth, and had just stuffed the heel of bread into her mouth when she heard people approaching. As they trooped into the tent Sierra watched from the corner of her eye. Isidro she picked out at once — he was the tallest of the group — though his black hair was trimmed in an unfamiliar style. At a glance she saw the weariness in the line of his shoulders and the set of his head, but he stood taller and straighter than she remembered from the weeks they’d spent running ahead of Rasten and his men. He turned her way briefly, his eyes skimming over her before looking away again.
He stood behind a diminutive figure with dark skin and darker hair. Three other men accompanied them, and as they came close Sierra felt the power they held — two of them were Battle-Mages. The last wore an officer’s insignia pinned to his tunic, just visible at the fold of his coat.
Sierra knew how to comport herself as a cowed and terrified slave — Kell had taught her that long before the Slavers set foot in the north. She rolled onto her knees and huddled low, letting her long tangled hair fall across her face. The broth and bread fortified her a little, but the draining of her power had stripped her reserves so low that the effort left her trembling. Even so, she wasn’t sure just how long that weakness would last. Her right arm was tingling with an echoed ache of Isidro’s broken bones, and a current of heat washed through her as the old injury fed her power.
She understood enough Akharian to pick the gist of their words as they gathered around her. ‘I doubt there’s much she can tell us,’ the man with the insignia said. ‘And I don’t suppose it matters much when the wretches are all dead.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised what she might be encouraged to recall, sir, and I doubt it’ll take much effort to wring the details out of her.’
‘She’s a barbarian, man — she knows nothing of power, and I don’t care to know whether those cursed mages were old or young or had light hair or dark. Just find out what she saw of the weapons and be done with it. We’ve got enough work to do without wasting time on trivialities. Go on, boy,’ he said. ‘Have her recount what she saw.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Isidro murmured in Akharian, and Sierra felt rather than saw him settle beside her on his heels, so close she could have touched him. ‘Sister,’ he said in Ricalani, his voice a study of neutrality and calm. ‘What happened when the mages came?’
‘We were in the clearing cutting wood,’ she said. ‘They came out of nowhere and surrounded us …’ When Isidro began to repeat her words in Akharian, she paused just to hear his voice again, after all this time. ‘They tried to make us go with them —’
‘How many?’ the officer interrupted.
‘Six.’
‘Did they all have weapons?’
‘Three of them did, master.’
‘And they offered to steal you away and set you free? Why didn’t you just go with them?’
Sierra squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the awful noise and the blazing orange light. ‘One of the girls said not to, sir. She said they felt wrong, somehow. And they were pointing weapons at us. Why would they do that if they meant us well?’
The men chuckled as Isidro relayed the words. ‘Then what happened?’ the woman urged.
‘They shot her,’ Sierra said. ‘It … it looked like a bolt of fire …’
‘Yes,’ the woman said. ‘Tell us about the weapons. What did they look like? How many times did they shoot? Once they made a shot, could they use it again right away? Or did they have to reload it, like nocking another arrow to a bow?’
She tried to give them only the barest response, but each time they pried for more details, drawing her answers out and insisting she go over them again and again.
‘And what happened when they died?’ the woman asked at last. ‘Something went wrong with the weapons, didn’t it?’
‘There was … there was so much noise. The men were shouting and the weapons, they just went mad.’ This was no lie — all she could recall was the screaming and the awful noise of the failing stones, and the power swelling all around, thick enough to choke her.
‘Sir, give me a few minutes with her and I’ll wager she can recall a bit more,’ one of the men said.
‘I’d rather hear what she actually saw, not some tale made up to spare her a beating,’ the woman snapped. ‘The moment she starts inventing details, anything she says will be worthless.’
‘You honestly believe she doesn’t remember it?’ the Battle-Mage sneered.
‘You didn’t feel the energy hanging over that place,’ she said. ‘How much power do you imagine it would take to create eighty-odd stones? A discharge of that intensity would be enough to scramble anyone’s wits, even someone without any hint of talent.’
‘Madame, how is it she survived it?’ the officer asked.
‘I suspect it has something to do with the interference pattern,’ the woman said. ‘They may have begun a ritual — primitive mages often rely on ritual and other mental tricks to raise power. I suspect the weapons were made with Blood Magic, and therefore were corrupt from their inception. Then, when they began to work the ritual, it tripped them into failure. If the energy was released in waves, it would have created an interference pattern where they intersected. It’s pure luck she happened to lie where the waves cancelled each other out. If they were amplified instead, it would have annihilated her.’
For a moment no one spoke. Then Sierra heard the commander shift his weight. ‘Does that make sense?’ he asked.
One of the Battle-Mages spluttered with indignation. ‘What do I know of it? I’m not some cursed academic who spends all my time with paper and counting-stones!’
‘Madame, do you have any proof of this theory?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Not without replicating the stones and the rituals, and examination of Blood Magic is prohibited. If you have a few hours to spare, Commander, I could give you a lecture on the theory of waves and energy, but with the exploration party about to set out, I suspect we both have more pressing matters to attend to.’
‘Sir, surely you’re not going to just accept the word of a civilian woman for this,’ the Battle-Mage said.
‘Captain, Madame Delphine has achieved more results than your whole branch,’ the commander snapped, ‘and besides, look at the wretched creature! Do you really think one little barbarian girl knows anything of value? The Blood-Mages are dead and the remains of the weapons have been packed up to be shipped to Akhara; as far as I’m concerned the matter is settled. Now, Madame Delphine, I understand a slave-master is coming to take the girl back to the camp. I trust you can keep charge of her in the meantime.’
‘Of course, Commander.’
Sierra didn’t look up, but she caught sight of the Battle-Mage’s feet as he stalked from the tent, each stride stiff and angry.
Once they were alone, Isidro stood. ‘Your orders, madame?’
The woman named Delphine drew a deep breath. ‘Aleksar, you’ve been working since early morning without a break. You may take a few minutes to yourself. I believe you had some questions for the girl? You may speak to her freely until the slave-master comes.’ The woman turned away, leaving Isidro standing perfectly still behind her. After a moment Sierra felt him settle beside her again. Gently — almost gingerly — he laid a hand on her shoulder, and brought her up to face him.
Sierra’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze. The last time she saw him he’d been too weak to stand, his eyes clouded with pain and his cheeks flushed with fever. Now he seemed a new man — his face no longer sunken and hollow, his skin a healthy shade instead of sallow from pain and exhaustion. His eyes were weary, but there was warmth behind them, not the reproach she had feared. He kept his hand on her shoulder, squeezing as though in warning. ‘Sister,’ he said again, and the formal address sounded decidedly odd. ‘How long has it been since you left Drysprings with my brother? How does he fare?’
‘He was with friends when I left him,’ Sierra said. ‘It was well south of here. I have every faith he’s safe and hale.’
Isidro closed his eyes for a moment, turning his face up as though making a silent prayer of thanks. Sierra frowned, but held her tongue. If something had happened to Cam, she would have found a way to tell him, whatever the danger … but then, he could have no idea what brought her here, and who knew what Rasten had led him to believe? She started to lay a hand on his knee, but then she saw Delphine studying them across the tent, and realised what his cautioning hand might be warning against.
After a moment Isidro heaved a sigh and turned back to her. ‘And what of you? How did you come to this wretched place?’
She looked away, but she couldn’t refuse to speak of it. She owed him some explanation. ‘The folk we travelled with found out about the man who was hunting me,’ she said. ‘They thought to profit from selling me back to him, so I struck out on my own instead.’
He nodded, slowly, and then raised one eyebrow. ‘It was an ill fate that saw you cross paths with the Slavers.’
Sierra shrugged. ‘Any port in a storm.’
The look he gave her was frankly sceptical, but Sierra returned it with a cool gaze. I’d like to see you come up with a better solution, she thought.
‘How do you fare in the slave camps?’
‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,’ she said, then she looked down, focussing on the trampled spruce with its familiar prickle and comforting scent. ‘Aleksar …’ she said, and the name tasted strange on her lips. ‘The other slaves, this morning … did any of them survive?’
Heartbeats passed before he answered. ‘No,’ he said. ‘When we arrived you were the only one alive. I’m sorry — were they friends?’
The words hit her like a blow. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, but nothing could keep the tears from spilling. No, they weren’t, she thought. They weren’t friends at all. But I wanted to save them, all the same.
She was still weeping when the tent flap opened with a blast of cold, admitting a man in a ragged coat scarcely better than the one she wore. He was red-faced and portly, with a stink Sierra could smell even over her own unwashed state, and had a club hanging from a cord around his wrist, which he idly slapped against the hem of his coat. ‘I’m here to collect a slave, madame,’ he said to Delphine.
She acknowledged him with the faintest nod, and turned to Isidro. ‘Aleksar, have you anything else to ask her?’
He stood swiftly and started to step between Sierra and the slave-master, but he caught himself and pulled back. ‘I … no, madame,’ he said. His voice was dispassionate, but Sierra could feel his sudden tension: the bones of his arm had begun to ache with the tug of the muscles.
The slave-master hadn’t wait
ed for his response. He strode across to Sierra and snatched a handful of her hair, hauling her to her feet as she yelped in pain. Her power had been slowly building since she awoke — it was still a small and paltry thing, but she clamped down on it hard before it could rise any further. Rasten pushed into her mind and drained it away. Her reserves were so low that she ached to let it go, but she didn’t dare fight him for it, not with Isidro’s mistress watching her every movement.
The slave-master snatched up her coat with the other hand and started towards the door, pulling her with him.
As he neared it, Delphine’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Now wait just a minute. Come back here at once.’
The slave-master paused in the doorway, and Sierra shivered violently from the cold. ‘It’s late, madame, past time to get the stock bedded down.’
‘I don’t care how late it is; you’re not taking her until you’ve settled the account.’
‘Account?’ the slave-master said. ‘What whoreson account?’
‘I had the doctor look at her,’ Delphine said. ‘Commander Thurius authorised it, and he said you’d reimburse me for the fee.’
‘What? No one told me of this. I ain’t authorised to pay no fee!’ He turned towards the doorway again, hauling Sierra after him, but with a ripple of power a glowing shield sprang up across the entrance.
‘My good man,’ Delphine said, though her flat and scornful tone implied she thought him quite the opposite, ‘I will not be left out of pocket. If you wish, I can ask the commander to adjudicate the matter …’
The slave-master’s hand clamped more tightly on Sierra’s hair, but his voice turned soft and wheedling. ‘Now, madame, I’m sure there’s no need for that. Only I’m not authorised to hand over any money, you see.’
