The Colors of Magic Anthology (magic: the gathering)

by Richard Lee Byers

  "I'm sorry," she said, her opalescent wings beating at the chill night air, "but I couldn't simply let you fall. My master ordered me to give you a slower death."

  Yirtag shrieked and thrashed, but his strength was as nothing compared to hers. She lit atop the dome, and holding him down, did with him as Sabul had commanded.

  When it was over, and that portion of the roof was foul with spatters of blood, she crouched there weeping, quaking, remorse burning inside her like some excruciating poison. It took her half an hour to compose herself sufficiently for the flight back to the mansion of the Hajeen.

  As she spread her wings, she noticed something curious. With her luminous feathers, she was accustomed to kindling a glow in any reflective surface she happened to encounter in the dark. Indeed, she saw smears of light swimming in the glazed tiles. They seemed strangely faint, as if the radiance of her plumage had dimmed.

  It was an odd phenomenon, but as far as she could discern, of no particular significance. Very little seemed significant to her now, save for the brutal act she'd just committed. Sobbing anew, she soared away from her abattoir.

  Ash still streaking his face and stubble darkening his chin, Sabul listened gravely to Kotara's account of Yirtag's demise. Unseemly as it was for an angel to harbor such a hope, she wished the Civic Guildmage would gloat over her description of her victim's agonies, because that might indicate he was satisfied, or at least becoming so.

  But he never so much as smiled, just nodded thoughtfully, like a clerk checking an inventory of goods and finding it in order.

  "You did well, " he said when she had finished.

  Oh, yes, did well as his torturer! Had she not been bound to his service, she might almost have wished to strike him.

  "Perhaps. But despite my efforts to slink about unseen, the Ilmieras know that something is slaying them. Moreover, they suspect that it's something inhuman, some' thing that plunges from the sky."

  Sabul shrugged. "If you say so."

  "Having deduced that much, surely they will in time surmise which magician sent the killer against them, whether they catch a glimpse of me or not."

  Sabul smirked. "As a jurist, I can tell you that what they know and what they can prove to a magistrate's satisfaction are two different things. By the two moons, I think I'd enjoy being accused. Let them discover how it feels to watch your kinsman's slayer saunter out of court a free man."

  "They might find a way to convict you," Kotara insisted, "and if they do, you'll go to the block."

  "I risk it gladly."

  "What of the risk to your family?" the angel asked, shifting her wings in frustration. Her feathers rustled. "If you're exposed, Tartesk and all your other relations will share in your disgrace. The scandal could ruin the Hajeen for all time."

  Sabul grimaced. "Exactly what are you getting at?"

  "The man who actually murdered Axdan is dead. So is his foremost accomplice. That's two lives for one. Be content with so much, and stop now, before you and your kindred come to grief."

  He shook his head. "I can't. Anyway, you needn't pretend that you want to stop because you're concerned about my welfare."

  "But I am. From the first moment I heard your voice, so full of suffering-"

  "Rubbish. You're just squeamish."

  "It's more than squeamishness! I'm suffering too, sorcerer, suffering in a way that-

  "I don't care!" he snarled, though immediately afterward, for just an instant, she fancied she saw a flicker of shame in his eyes.

  "Go, and return tomorrow night." He turned his back on her.

  Her fingers half curled into a fist, then opened again.

  Eskander Ilmiera had stationed a pair of sentries on the roof of his house and barred the shutters of his bedchamber. By flying low, Kotara evaded the scrutiny of the former, then made herself sufficiently intangible to slip between the latter. Once inside, she opened the panels to facilitate a hasty departure with her prisoner.

  Stouter than most of his kindred, but sharing the usual Ilmiera long nose and wide, thin-lipped mouth, Eskander lay snoring beside his pretty young wife. The sight of the girl, snuggled close to him and smiling in her sleep, made the angel flinch.

  Still, she had no choice but to proceed. She plucked Eskander from his bride's embrace, pressed her hand to his mouth, and hurried to the window. The slumbering girl gave a petulant little moan. The angel leaped out into the darkness, dove down almost to street level until she was a safe distance from the guards, then, her wings drumming, ascended. Eskander squirmed helplessly in her grasp.

  She set him down on the roof of a warehouse. The plump young man looked utterly defenseless without his clothes, and indeed such was the case, for of course he had no weapon. The realization made Kotara's helly churn.

  When she told him why she'd come for him, he said, "But I never laid a hand on Axdan! I only stood and watched!"

  "It doesn't matter. My master ordered me to kill you, and I must obey."

  "Please," he said, tears streaming down his plump cheeks. "I admit I'm at fault. I should have found a way to stop it. But all my life, I've always felt that I had to do as Multam wanted, not the other way around. Punish me if you must, but spare my life."

  "I cannot," she said. "Put up your hands."

  Instead he clasped them together and sank to his knees. "I beg you. I can help you. I can warn you about Ilmiera magic."

  "I already know about the spells Multam carried. They couldn't save him."

  "Those were nothing! My family has wizards as powerful as any of the Hajeen. More powerful, because they don't scruple to invoke the kings of darkness. And I know they're making plans to deal with you. I could spy on them, discover exactly what-"

  "I can't barter with you for your life," Kotara said. "I can only execute my master's orders. Stand up and fight."

  Eskander curled into a ball and blubbered.

  Suddenly she hated him and all the Ilmieras, as if they themselves had demanded that she defile herself with their destruction. Galvanized by a rage which in no way diminished her anguish, she pounced on him.

  Later that night, when she glimpsed herself in Sabul's mirror, she realized she'd changed again. Her lucent eyes had taken on a flat, metallic cast that transformed her soft gaze into the predatory stare of a falcon.

  Over the course of the next week, the Ilmieras became increasingly wary. Those who dared venture from their homes at night invariably did so in the company of bodyguards or well-armed friends, or, in the case of one fellow, in disguise.

  Only slightly inconvenienced by such measures, Kotara continued her gory work, still revolted by it, yet periodically seized by the fury that had come upon her when she slew Eskander. Her appearance continued to alter in subtle respects. Her features sharpened, while the sheen of her feathers dulled. Perhaps she, a creature of the endless heavens, had tarried near the earth too long, and its gross solidity was somehow coarsening the finer stuff of her being.

  By day she attempted to purge herself in the sky, to revitalize herself by rising up and up, through the clouds and into the star-dappled blackness beyond. But no matter how high she flew, she couldn't escape the miasma of uncleanness, of savagery and hate, that seemed to cling to her.

  When Kotara slipped through the window, Sabul was sitting and staring into space. His brown hair was a tangle of greasy spikes, and his chin remained unshaven. His elaborate white robes were wrinkled and smelled of the unwashed body inside them.

  "Master?" the angel said.

  The young wizard shifted heavily around to face her. "Did you get Otori?" he asked.

  "With some difficulty, " she said. "He set a trap of sorts, with himself as bait. When I flew down at him, a mage befuddled me with an illusion, and half a dozen hired bravos sprang out at me. I had to kill them all, lest one report seeing an angel. " Her sore eyes pulsed, but no tears slid down her cheeks. Perhaps she'd cried them all already.

  Sabul blinked. "That's… " he gestured vaguely. "Well, I suppose t
hat if the mercenaries chose to serve the Ilmieras, they share in the guilt of the Ilmieras. "

  Kotara glared at him. Her fingers twitched. "Do you truly believe that?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. But in any case, it's over. No use fretting about it now. "

  "It's likely to happen again. I've already slain Multam and his chief companions. Now we're down to slaughtering youths who roamed the city with him only rarely and in all likelihood played no part in Axdan's death. It's time you stopped deluding yourself that this enterprise is still a quest for justice and call it what it is-a war of extermination. And every war claims innocent lives. "

  "Deem it a war if you like. Whatever it is, I don't have to justify it to you. " He turned away.

  As she paced around his stool to confront him anew, she glimpsed herself in the scrying mirror. The last faint glimmer of luminosity had vanished from her feathers. Though still magnificent, her wings were merely snow white now, like the pinions of some arctic raptor.

  "Look at yourself," she said. "You haven't bathed or changed your clothes since Axdan's funeral, nor slept or eaten either, I suspect. I'm certain you haven't resumed the duties of your various offices. I'll wager that you simply sit and brood in this chamber all day."

  Sabul shrugged.

  "If all this vengeance isn't healing you," Kotara persisted, "if it isn't helping you to take up the threads of your life, then what's the point of it? Why must we continue?"

  "Because this isn't about me!" the sorcerer snapped. "What we're doing is for Axdan."

  "Is this the memorial he would have chosen? A pile of corpses?"

  He opened his mouth for a quick retort, then faltered. After several seconds he said, "May the gods pity me, I don't know. His was a kindly soul, that's for certain. He didn't even care to hawk or hunt."

  "Did he belong to the Civic Guild?" she asked.

  Sabul smiled ever so slightly. "No. He didn't have a wisp of magical ability, though it took him a long while to admit it. He wanted to follow in his big brother's footsteps."

  "He was proud of you."

  "Oh, yes. When I was a student, I had a bad habit of prattling on and on about all I was learning. The arcane powers and heavy responsibilities of my mystical tradition. The sanctity of the law, and how all must respect it lest civilization come unraveled. The rest of my kin learned to avoid me and my tedious soliloquies, but Axdan hung on every word." His mouth twisted.

  "Which is a shame, isn't it? If I hadn't filled his head with such pompous nonsense, if I'd taught him that life is chaos and strife, perhaps he'd be alive today."

  "But then he wouldn't have been the lad you loved," Kotara said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Besides, you could scarcely teach him what you didn't credit yourself. I think that, deep down, you still don't believe that any man, let alone a mage of the Civic Guild, has the right to defy the law to seek a private vengeance. It grieves you that you've broken your oath and perverted your art."

  He sighed. "Perhaps."

  "Then stop."

  "Soon, I promise."

  "Meaning when the house of Ilmiera is extinct? When I've killed every last one of them, even those innocent of Axdan's death or any other crime? By that time you'll be mad and damned."

  "As I told you, it doesn't matter what happens to me. You have to understand, our parents died when Axdan was only a baby. I raised him, though of course the various relatives and servants helped. I was responsible for him, and in the end, I failed to protect him. But at least I can make his killers pay."

  "No matter how many you slay, it won't bring him back," Kotara said. "Nor could all the blood in Zhalfir wash away your guilt. Rather, it-"

  "Curse you!" he cried, striking her hand from his shoulder and surging to his feet. "How dare you strive to sway me from my purpose? You're only a slave. Begone until tomorrow evening."

  Shaking with frustration, Kotara turned and moved away. She'd come so close to persuading him, but in the end, his bloody obsession had proved stronger than any argument she could muster. She folded her wings to slip out the window, then realized she didn't feel as if she were being compelled, to go.

  Ever since the moment Sabul had summoned her, she'd borne the touch of his magic, like a collar of silk that would swell into an iron yoke if ever she defied him. Now, however, the sorcery had grown so attenuated that she could scarcely feel it at all.

  She didn't understand how it could be so. Ordinarily a wizard's conjured agents were bound to him until he perished or chose to release them. But she did comprehend that fate had given her an opportunity to liberate herself permanently.

  Sabul was lost in thought again, seemingly unaware that she had yet to depart. Stalking lightly as a cat, she tiptoed toward him. On the way, she lifted an ivory-hilted longsword from its rack. She trusted her own prowess. How could she not, after proving it over and over these past several nights? But she respected Sabul's sorcery as well, and a weapon would help ensure that she slew him instantly, denying him the chance to rattle off a spell. Besides, it would be somehow satisfying to dispatch him with one of his own tools.

  As she glided closer, she felt the magic of the summoning gather itself and fumble at her like a palsied hand. Too late, she thought. A final step carried her into striking range. She raised the blade for a decapitating stroke, and then, even from the back, his appearance struck her anew.

  How miserable he looked with his bowed head and hunched shoulders, his stale vestments and unwashed neck, how sorely in need of help and solace. Suddenly her murderous intent seemed not merely alien but despicable, and the cruel pleasure she'd found in her purpose, fouler still. She hesitated, and in that instant the power of the summoning came back full force like a set of manacles snapping shut.

  She grimaced in vexation but not despair, because she could feel that the magic still wasn't as strong as it had been originally. Something was chipping away at it, and soon she'd shake it off for good.

  Kotara alternately crept and flitted through the maze of towers, rooftops, balconies, walls, and windows that together constituted the upper stories of the Ilmiera mansion. Even those members of the family who normally resided elsewhere had moved into the great house for the duration of the crisis, just as they were all keeping indoors after dark. If the angel was to continue slaying them, she would have to extract one from their stronghold itself.

  The aristocrats clearly expected her to attempt precisely that. The exterior of the mansion fairly bristled with sentries, as well as alarms and snares both mechanical and magical in nature. Evading them all, she peeked in one casement after the next, searching for Ferren Tynlo, an Ilmiera by marriage, the night's appointed prey.

  Chancy as such a venture would be, she might actually have to search around inside to locate him. But not if Sabul's magic failed utterly, and she sensed that the binding might well crumble away before the night was through.

  The prospect wasn't entirely pleasant. Bewildered by the stranger who'd nearly struck Sabul down from behind and taken vicious pleasure in the deed, she'd spent the day pondering her situation, and her reflections had borne fruit. She believed she now understood why the sorcerer's magic was failing, and if she was correct, she was paying a heavy price for her liberation.

  But not too heavy. Not if it afforded her the opportunity to pay Sabul back for misusing her, then leave this charnel house of a city and its demented blood feuds far behind.

  She contemplated her master's spell. As best she could judge, it was still potent. Time to go inside then. She climbed through a window into a vacant bedchamber, and at that moment, the whole world seemed to beat like a colossal heart.

  Tainted with decay and damnation, the pulse of power grated on her senses like the throbbing of an abscessed tooth. Elsewhere in the house, some mage was performing infernal sorcery-not a simple spell like the one Multam had unleashed against her but a far more elaborate conjuration.

  Eskander had warned Kotara that his kin planned to raise some dire powe
r against her. If that was what was happening now, she supposed she'd better find out about it. Keeping a wary eye out for members of the household, she skulked through corridors and down stairways, following the magical emanations to their source.

  At first she encountered no one. Lacking her more rarefied perceptions, the Ilmieras and their retainers could scarcely have registered the malign power surging through their home. Even so, they must have recognized that some fearful enterprise was afoot and therefore abode in their personal quarters.

  Eventually the pulsations led her to a narrow match-boarded door and the two sentries stationed before it. Peeking at them from behind an enormous vase, Kotara saw that they were edgy, and small wonder. The snarling sound of the chant murmuring through the portal at their backs was enough to jangle any mortal's nerves, even if he didn't comprehend the tongues of the Abyss.

  Sabul had commanded Kotara to conceal herself from human eyes, but the erosion of his influence left her considerable leeway in how she carried out the directive. She simply waited until both guards were looking elsewhere, then charged down the hallway at them. Closing the distance in an instant, she struck them unconscious before they could level their spears, shout an alarm, or even, presumably, discern what manner of creature had assaulted them.

  Cautiously passing through the crack between the door and the jamb, Kotara found herself at the top of a long staircase, which descended into a subterranean chamber. On the floor below, greenish flames, the sole source of illumination, flickered in an iron brazier, casting the dancing shadows of five humans on the rough stone walls. The sorcerers were all middle-aged or older, no doubt ranking members of the house of Ilmiera, and each wore the regalia of an initiate in the mysteries of darkness. Sickly sweet smoke hung in the air, the product of some narcotic substance smoldering in the flames.

  Crouching down, grateful for once that her feathers no longer glowed, Kotara watched as the chanting rose in a climactic crescendo. On the final syllable, the emerald flames shot upward, and the strongest pulsation of magic yet, so potent it seemed to stab her like a lance, split the air.