by Cindy Dees
CHAPTER
15
Despite her worry for Will, Rosana yawned as the council wrangled over every last detail of who would do what and how much and when and report to whom in preparing an expeditionary force to march out and drive the Boki out of Dupree. She’d always imagined going to war would be much more glorious—swords waving and grand speeches and distraught damsels kissing the brave warriors on their way.
At long, long last, however, the meeting broke up. Rosana stood and stretched her stiff joints. The governor’s benches were none too comfortable..
The Heart adept approached her immediately. “I’m off to the Heart.” He added under his breath, “If you know what’s good for you, that is where you will go without delay, as well.”
Rosana nodded fractionally in acknowledgment of his warning.
“Walk with me, Novice.”
* * *
Will nearly had to run to keep up with the guildmaster’s long strides out the main gate of Anton’s residence.
They passed through the gate and Will stopped in his tracks, stunned. What on Urth? The entire population of Dupree seemed to have emptied into the streets, and the city was lit up with torches and lamps and lanterns.
Was tonight some sort of festival he was not aware of? The crowd buzzed angrily, though, and he caught snatches of rumor—guild storehouse looted. Soldiers searching the city, beating and arresting any caught with booty. Mobs fighting back against excessive force. Emergency curfew going into effect. This was no festival. It was a riot!
Aurelius swore under his breath and plowed into the melee.
Alarmed, Will plastered himself to the solinari’s heels. If there was violence afoot, the safest place in the colony would be at the back of its most powerful combat mage. But Will had a terrible time keeping up with the sun elf, who was moving swiftly and keeping his hood pulled well over his face. In minutes Will had no idea where they were. If he became separated from the elf now, he would be hopelessly lost in the sprawling city.
He was soundly jostled, elbowed, and cursed at before a wide avenue opened up before him, one entire side of it flanked by a long, ornate building, stone below and half timbers above. The trim was intricately painted in royal blue and gold. At night, the magical glow around the structure was plain to the naked eye.
Guildmaster Aurelius hurried up the broad steps, waved his hand briefly, and the great magical shell around the building lowered at his command.
The power of the casual hand gesture stole Will’s breath away. Dread anticipation over what the solinari would do to “test” him made his steps slow and his heart pound as he followed the man up the long steps.
This was it. The point of no return.
What of his father’s quest? If he went into yon building and learned more of it, he would have no choice but to press on.
He could turn away right now. Leave. Go find Rosana or a nice girl like her, settle down, and live a quiet, normal life, which, after the past few days, sounded pretty blessed good. Of course, that would also mean he would spend the rest of his safe, boring life wondering what would have happened had he found the courage to dare greatly.
* * *
The Heart adept hurried away from Anton’s great hall with Rosana as if the place made him vaguely ill. She knew the feeling. Her knees still felt on the verge of collapse. Had Will not stood up so bravely for her, she did not want to think what would have happened to her.
“Come along then, Novice,” the adept ordered with thin patience. “We must not stay where we are not welcome, and the governor has made it clear he bears no love for us.” He exclaimed as they reached the mighty portcullis, which was coming down ponderously, already halfway lowered, “What is this?”
Her heart lurched. Were the two of them to be detained, then? Terror exploded in her bosom. But then she saw past the portcullis and noticed people racing past in every direction. To her untrained eye, it looked as if the world were ending.
“Oh, good grief,” the adept muttered. “Not another riot. Come. We will have need of every healer this night. There will be cracked pates and broken limbs aplenty afore this mischief is ended. Cursed governor barely controls his troops in the best of times. But turned loose to restore order, they’ll behave little better than savages themselves.”
Wide-eyed, she crowded close to his side as the adept dived into the seething mass of people crowding the streets.
“A healer, a healer…”
“I’m wounded, Heart. Magic, please…”
“We’ve wounded over this way.…”
It was a mess. Everywhere Rosana looked people with bloody faces and limps and cradling injuries hobbled past. She didn’t have the first idea who to begin healing. A fellow with a bloodied lip and what looked like a broken jaw staggered into her, knocking her hard into the adept. The wounded man made a garbled noise like a choking turkey.
She drew forth power to repair the man’s face. It came easily, for the Heart’s energy was orderly, powerful, in the city with its Heartstone and high concentration of Heart members.
But before she could cast it, the adept snapped, “Save your mana. There’ll be much worse than him who need your healing this night!”
“Worse? Where?”
“They’ll bring the bad ones to the Heart. Such violence Anton breeds. It’ll come to no good, I tell you. The man’s a menace.”
Rosana’s jaw dropped open. She did believe she’d just heard a Heart member mutter treason. Of course, in the fellow’s distress at the number of wounded around him the comment could certainly be forgiven. But her heart warmed to this fellow more than a little at the sentiment.
A tangle of limbs, weapons, and shouting spilled out of an alley and into the street before them, nearly overrunning them both. Rosana recoiled, but not quickly enough. A ball of glowing energy twisted her way through the air, striking her on the shoulder. As it began to sink into her being, however, she recognized it as curse magic and expelled it from her being. Not only did her kind have a gift for creating such magic; they also had a gift for shrugging it off.
A soldier in the Haelan legion’s black and gold peeled away from the brawl. “To me, Heart!” he yelled. “This way!”
The adept grabbed her elbow and shoved her toward the soldier, who took off running. Someone took a swing at them from a doorway with something thick and clumsy—a club of some kind—and the soldier’s sword flashed up to deflect the blow.
“Hurry,” the soldier urged them.
They burst out into a large square, and on the far side of it she spied the large whitewashed structure that must be the Heart building. Its shell of magical protection glowed brightly, illuminating the entire square in a soft white light.
“Thanks be to thee, soldier,” the adept panted. “Who are you? What is your name?”
“I am Kel. A friend of the Heart. You should be safe enough here if you stick to the lighted places.”
“The Heart will remember you. If you ever have need of us, you have but to ask.”
The soldier nodded briefly and turned to face the square. Only small pockets of fighting were noisy around the edges of the big space.
“Thank you, Kel!” Rosana called as the soldier plunged into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
The crowd was heavy, and the number of wounded exponentially higher here than in the streets behind them. The adept dived into the crowd, dragging Rosana along by the elbow lest she become separated from him.
“The Heart is here!” the shout went up, and was accompanied by voices cheering.
He commented in irritation, “It is most likely my own healers cheering at having me back so they can dump this mess in my lap.”
Grinning, she barged along beside him.
Not far from the Heart’s front door, however, they ran across a group of gravely wounded people. They’d been laid out in a row before the Heart’s doorstep almost like corpses on a battlefield.
“Oh, for the spirit of Nature,”
the adept griped under his breath. “When will Anton learn to rein in his troops?” He raised his voice in brisk command, “Who’s in charge, here?”
A harassed-looking woman of middle years looked up gratefully from where she bent over a still, pale form. “Thank the stars, you’re back. We could use your mana, Brother.”
He shed his cloak, shoving it at Rosana to hold. “Do you know the life spell?” he asked.
“I have been taught it but have never really cast it.”
“Looks like you get to learn on the job. Pick a body and dive in, Novice.”
With that, the adept shouted, “Where is Brother Lizmorn? We have need of his potions!”
A lizardman wearing the Heart colors materialized, a handful of glass vials in hand. Rosana stared at this Lizmorn fellow, shocked. Although she supposed it was no more shocking for one of his race to be in the Heart than for one of her race. Neither was well loved by Koth.
“Take these,” the lizardman said, shoving a few vials into her hands.
“What are they?” she asked, not seeing any written labels on the vials.
The adept spoke from beside her. “Lizmorn’s kind do not learn to read easily. Our native brother has devised a color-coding system for identifying healing potions. See those white stripes on yours? You’ve got simple healing potions, good for a minor injury or staving off death for a bit.” He gave her a little shove toward the many waiting victims. “Go.”
He turned his back and commenced restoring life to the body nearest to him.
The old panic clutched at her, freezing her mind and body into immobility. What if she messed up? What if she wasted her mana and someone died because of it? Doubts piled on top of one another until she could hardly breathe beneath them all.
“You! Healer girl! Get over here!”
She looked up swiftly at the sharp order.
A richly dressed rakasha, who looked like a white tiger changeling, was waving at her imperiously. His whipcord tone of voice cut through her panic enough that she was able to move her feet.
“These two have been dead for more than three minutes. I need them both lifed. Now.”
She looked down and saw the body of another sumptuously dressed white tiger rakasha. The race of cat changelings was exceedingly uncommon in Dupree. The dead one’s hand still clutched a thin golden chain that ran to a matching collar around the other victim’s neck—a dead girl, a female jann with strikingly iridescent blue skin for the most part. The girl was nearly of an age with her and so beautiful Rosana’s teeth ached to look at her still face.
“Who are they?” she asked as she knelt between the two.
“My master and a gift for the governor.”
Her gaze narrowed. She’d heard about the governor’s tastes. That he poisoned women to make them wildly in love with him and then did unspeakable things with them.
She frantically reviewed the incant for a life spell in her head. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she began the process of clearing her mind and reaching into the ethos around her for spiritual energy.
“Hurry, girl! My master will have to resurrect soon.”
Irritated, she murmured the focusing incant, using its cadence and rhythm to shape the magic in her hand. She finished the incant and slapped her hand down upon the slave girl’s chest, vigorously projecting the energy into her.
The slave girl lurched upright as she drew in a gasping breath. Wild-eyed, she glanced around as if waking from a nightmare. “Be easy,” Rosana murmured. “You live. I got to you in time.”
“Get on with it, girl! Heal my master!” the antsy rakasha cried behind her.
Taking her sweet time, Rosana started to draw another batch of magic but then stopped. “You know, this would work better if my target weren’t clutching a metal object like that.” She pried the end of the leash out of the dead man’s hand and passed it to the slave girl, who took it in shock, her eyes a mile wide. Rosana lifted her chin infinitesimally in encouragement.
“Go on, do it!” The rakasha was all but jumping up and down in panic.
Truthfully, Rosana did not believe she had the capacity to draw enough magic to herself for a second life spell. But she was not about to tell the agitated man with the big sword on his hip that.
Careful not to accidentally tap into her own spirit and making sure the cat-man’s undivided attention stayed fully on her, Rosana did her theatric best reciting the incant, shaping all of the charge she was able to gather, and throwing it down into the rich man’s chest.
Nothing happened. He was now beyond the aid of her magic. Only a resurrection would bring him back now. It was coldhearted of her, but she could not find it in her conscience to care overmuch that a slaver had died.
As a Heart member, she was obliged to do her best to save lives, but she was still a gypsy, too. Her kind had been pursued and bedeviled by slavers forever. And gypsies were not known for their forgiving ways. She pushed aside the frisson of regret that she had let down her Heart colors as she pushed to her feet and murmured an apology to the cat changeling who’d summoned her.
The rakasha guard was distraught that his master had not come back. He demanded to know where the Heartstone was and whirled to head for the Heart building, his long, tufted tail swirling behind him.
The drain of attempting a second life spell pulled at her. She had no more magic for this night and felt instinctive warning creeping into her consciousness that further casting would destroy a piece of her spirit. The physical exhaustion of being at the end of her magic pulled at her as well.
But she could still render basic first aid. She reached into her pouch for a rolled bandage and knelt beside a youth with a badly gashed arm. It looked like a sword had hacked it. As she wrapped the wound, a golden collar clattered to the cobblestones at the edge of the Heart building. The leash was still attached to it, but there was no sign of its wearer. Smiling a little to herself, Rosana tied off the bandage.
* * *
Will passed through tall double doors painted royal blue with four-pointed gold stars the size of his outspread arms upon them, a long comet’s tail arcing away from each star. He stopped just inside the Mage’s Guild.
A large, threatening man stood just inside in full chain-mail armor. The cloth tabard covering his mail shirt was the guild’s royal blue with an embroidered gold dragon rampant upon it. He moved quickly to interpose himself between Will and Aurelius.
“I am Drake Bruin. Celestial Order of the Dragon. State your business, boy.”
Will’s jaw dropped. The Celestial Order of the Dragon was the sect of warriors designated to protect and serve the Imperial Mage’s Guild. Recognition of the colors and heraldry washed over him. Ty’s blue and gold armor. Ki’Raiden demanding that the “dragon” show himself. My father must have belonged to the Celestial Order of the Dragon.
Aurelius had already hurried across the main room and his robes were just disappearing up the steps. Will was on his own.
The guard looked him up and down suspiciously and repeated more sharply, “State your business, boy.”
Will’s jaw tightened against being called a boy. “I have a message for Guildmaster Aurelius, if you please.”
“What is the message?”
Will answered carefully, “I am charged with delivering my message to him alone and no one else.”
The guard took a long, suspicious look at Will’s face, his frown deepening the longer he studied Will. Much as Anton Constantine’s had. But eventually the knight replied gruffly, “Then you’d best see the guildmaster.”
Will took another step into the room and became aware of a sympathetic vibration in the air that resonated deep within his spirit. His kind of magic lived in this place.
He looked at the wall where the guardian was fiddling with an elaborate lock, maybe a palm’s span across. Its brass surface was carved with swirls and curls. The fellow returned a similarly decorated key to a hook beside it. That must be a magical lock. And it raised and lowe
red the marvelous shell of protective magic around the building!
Will’s hand rose toward the wondrous contraption, but the drake snapped, “Don’t touch the wizard’s lock!”
Will jerked his hand back.
“You may put your pack there on the floor. This way.”
Will dropped his pack by the door and followed the drake up two flights of stairs. He glimpsed books, mages conversing quietly among themselves, and even one hunched over a table, painstakingly copying a scroll. Ahh, how he’d love to become one of them. He’d been fascinated by tales of magic ever since he could remember. No wonder. It ran more deeply in his blood than he’d ever known. But none of the theory of magic, nor the history of it, nor the deeper study of it had been made available to him. The gall of his father’s refusal to teach him soured his gut as he climbed two more flights of stairs.
He nearly bumped into Drake Bruin’s back as the knight stopped abruptly in front of a closed door. The portal had a bright aura about it, distinctively yellow. His escort knocked upon the portal through the glow.
“Enter!” a resonant voice called from the other side of the door. The yellow glow blinked out.
The drake ushered Will inside. “This lad says he has a message, Guildmaster Aurelius. For your ears only.”
The sun elf looked up from his work, his amber gaze measuring Will narrowly. “You may go, Bruin.”
The drake frowned at the dismissal but left the room, closing the door with a disapproving thud.
Aurelius, who upon closer inspection was no youngster, leaned back in his chair and studied Will intently. “Have I met you before? You have a familiar look about you.”
“No, sir, we have never met.”
“And yet you know a rare and difficult skill, taught only to a knight of the Celestial Order of the Dragon. Where did you learn the Dragon’s Roar, boy?”
