by A. H. Lee
Sairis responded by flinging a ball of green fire, which Marsden met with a yellow one. The two spells glanced off each other and exploded, showering sparks across the mercifully wet ledge and its occupants.
Marsden is a woman, thought Roland.
However, the true sex of Mistala’s dean of magical studies seemed less important than the fact that two magicians were about to have a full-blown duel on a narrow, slippery ledge with gods only knew how many enemies closing in. “Sairis!” barked Roland. He stepped between them, arms outstretched. “We cannot simply kill everybody in our way, particularly not citizens of Mistala!”
“I don’t know about everyone,” flashed Sairis, “but I am definitely going to kill him.”
“Her,” said Roland automatically.
“I prefer him,” offered Marsden.
“I am definitely going to kill him,” repeated Sairis.
“That would be unfortunate,” said Marsden, “since I have Roland’s horse and supplies, and you’ll never find them without my help.”
“Watch me,” said Sairis, who appeared to be looking for a clear shot around Roland. “You can watch from the River.”
“I also have the sword,” said Marsden quietly.
Sairis went still. Marsden looked at him over Roland’s shoulder. “The hunters have moved on, but I think they will be back. You might want to be away by then.”
“I find myself disinclined to trust you,” snapped Sairis.
“You’re not filling me with confidence, either.”
Roland drew a hand across his face. “Could we just calm down and talk for a moment?”
“Certainly,” said Marsden, “I suggest we do so over breakfast, since Sairis is in real danger of burning himself out of existence. Did you feed him last night?”
Roland felt a stab of guilt. “No.”
At the same time, Sairis said, “Why on earth would we go anywhere with you?”
Marsden gave him an exasperated look, then turned his full attention to Roland. “There’s a meadow a little south of here. I suspect you know the way. It has a recently butchered, freshly dressed elk in it. Meet me there.”
He vanished.
Roland blinked. His eyes swept the ledge, but there was nothing to see.
Sairis gave a cry of fury and this time managed to dodge under Roland’s arm. “He’s an illusionist! It’s some kind of charm. He’s still here!”
“I don’t think so,” said Roland, looking over the edge. A rope had been secured a little below their perch. It looked unnaturally taut. As Roland watched, it gave a jerk and went slack. Roland saw a single puddle splash in the direction of the cave’s mouth and then lost track of where Marsden might be.
“The nerve,” fumed Sairis. “The absolute gall!”
Roland turned to look at him. Sairis was hugging himself in his torn shirt and ragged trousers, barefoot on the wet rock. The burns across his neck and chest still looked livid, and a spot near his left shoulder had started to seep an unhealthy-looking, milky fluid. His left wrist and forearm didn’t look much better. He actually seemed to be in worse shape than after Hastafel’s sword thrust.
I cannot believe I was throwing you around last night. “Sairis, you are hurt. Do you even realize how badly? We cannot become fugitives. Daphne is about to go into battle for the first time in her life. My exhausted men in the pass will be asked to rally themselves for a large-scale assault. I should be with them, and instead I am out here! I have a responsibility to people who have put their faith in me! You—”
Sairis swayed on his feet.
Roland stepped forward to catch him, but Sairis had already crouched down. “I’m fine,” he muttered to the rock floor. “Just dizzy.” His voice had lost its ferocity. He continued without raising his head. “You should go. I tried to tell you that last night.”
Roland gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what you were trying to tell me last night? Gods, you’re terrible at communicating.”
Sairis gave a sharp exhalation that might have been a laugh. He looked up, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Go, Roland.”
Roland crouched in front of him. “I can’t.”
Sairis looked at him for a long moment. Roland noticed that, in addition to the burns, he had an extravagantly black eye. What are we doing to each other?
At last, Sairis said, “You think I should go talk to Marsden.”
“I’d like to hear what he has to say. And if he truly has my horse, we have no supplies or transportation. You have no shoes and hardly any clothes. We’re in border country. We can’t go stumbling through the wilderness like this, and I don’t think you want to go back to my uncle.”
Sairis scowled. “Your uncle wanted me to spy on you. He said—” Sairis shook his head. “He’s not your friend. Don’t trust him. Marsden is probably working for him. This is probably a trap—”
“You think everything is a trap.”
“For me, everything is!”
Roland shook his head. “I think he would have attacked us while we were asleep if he wanted to harm us. I think we should go to the meadow, listen to what he has to say, and get you something to eat before you pass out. Will food help your wounds heal? Because you look like you’re working on blood poisoning.”
Sairis did not respond. He slid his glasses onto his nose. Roland let him think. After a moment, he muttered, “I’m not sure why you’re asking. You could just throw me over your shoulder. I obviously lack the personal fortitude to set you on fire.”
Roland gave a surprised snort of laughter.
Sairis stared miserably at his palms. “Or, frankly, the magic.”
Roland reached out to take one of Sairis’s hands. It was ice cold. “I will not let him hurt you. Trust me?”
Sairis took a deep breath. He started to stand up, then promptly sat back down. “I...might need a bit of help.”
Roland felt a flood of relief. “That I can do.”
* * * *
By the time he managed to get off the ledge, Sairis had a clear notion that he’d overextended himself. He’d used magic to make up for the weakness of his starved body, magic to free himself, magic to heal himself, magic to bind ghosts, magic to summon fire...
He’d drained the stored energy from his glasses, and his personal reserves were near zero. This had never happened to him before—not without something actively blocking his access to power. There’d been times when he’d nearly died before he could heal himself, but never this feeling of hitting dry earth at the bottom of a well. It was shocking.
Sairis started towards the clearing with the notion that he must arrive under his own power to avoid appearing weak to an enemy. He set his teeth against the pain of his burns, which became more distracting with every step. They’d been numb last night, but they seemed to have stopped healing right about the point of most exquisite sensation. He could feel his own heartbeat in the blistered skin, and the mere touch of the gentle morning sun was excruciating.
He was terribly thirsty. He wanted to drink from the river, but he had just enough presence of mind to force himself away. Intestinal parasites were surprisingly resistant to magic.
Sairis knew he needed to explain some things. He could tell Roland wanted to ask questions—that he was hurt and a little angry and definitely confused, but he was holding his tongue out of deference to Sairis’s obviously fragile state. Sairis could almost hate him for that. It would be so much easier if I could just hate him.
Sairis could still feel Roland’s palm against his throat, the heat of his mouth, the frantic pleasure that had obliterated fear. Even the pain of his injuries had transformed in that moment—a harmony set against melody, something delicious and forbidden, stolen from the darkness.
I probably shouldn’t have kissed him.
When their route started to take them uphill through stands of briar, Sairis lost his battle with dignity. “You can’t walk through this barefoot,” Roland said.
“Alright,” said Sairis.
“I said alright.”
The rest was a blur. Sairis promised himself he was not going to faint. He was absolutely not going to give Marsden the pleasure. And anyway, it would be harder for Roland to carry him. He wouldn’t be able to wrap his arms around Roland’s neck, tuck his face against his shoulder, curl against his chest.
Sairis knew he must have drifted, because when he opened his eyes, he realized Roland had sat down. He was still holding Sairis, and also...water. Sairis snatched at the proffered canteen, drank it so quickly he almost choked. When he’d finished, he tried to look around. He thought for a moment that he’d lost his glasses again, but he found them still on his nose. He couldn’t seem to make his eyes focus.
“Sair?” Roland’s voice sounded worried.
Sairis struggled to sit up. “Where...?” he slurred.
A face swam into view, and Sairis jerked back with a hiss. Marsden was holding out a plate of something that, admittedly, smelled like happiness in edible form. “It really is amazing that you have even one fireball left in you,” he murmured. “Come on, kid, elk steaks for breakfast. I had to exorcise it, and let me tell you, I am not accustomed to exorcising my breakfast.”
Sairis tried to retreat and came up against Roland’s chest. “Not eating anything from you.”
Marsden looked at him with something suspiciously like pity. Sairis noticed that he’d gotten his glamour back into place. It was exceptionally good—something closer to a true shape change than a mere illusion. At last, Marsden put the food down, held out his hand and said, “Ariadne. But my friends call me Andrew.”
Sairis stared at him.
“I believe I made a mistake,” continued Marsden. “I’d tell you to look for an aura in the food, but I doubt you have enough magic left. You are just going to have to trust me. I know that’s not easy, considering the last few days. So here’s some trust in return.”
One name. It wasn’t enough to make Marsden truly vulnerable, but it could certainly be used against him...in more ways than one, all things considered. But you crammed a charm down my throat and pinned me while I choked on it!
When Marsden spoke again, his voice had lost some of its authority. “How is Jonas?”
Sairis was lost.
Marsden scratched his head. “Has he gotten so paranoid that not even his apprentice knows his given name? Karkaroth, your master. Is he...alright?”
Sairis wished his eyes would focus better. He could have sworn that Marsden’s sudden preoccupation with the grass hid a sheen of moisture on his cheek.
“How do you...?” croaked Sairis and tried again, “What do you know about my master?”
Marsden gave a wry smile. “Not much anymore. But I was married to him for twenty years, so I like to think I know a little.”
Sairis realized his mouth was hanging open. “When were you—?”
“I believe that is a very fair amount of trust,” interrupted Marsden, “my charm notwithstanding. Eat, Sairis. You cannot burn through magic like that and expect to live a long life. Not even with...whatever you’ve done to those glasses. Did Jonas teach you nothing about self-preservation? No, I suppose he didn’t. Eat.”
Sairis ate. Two perfectly seared elk steaks with potatoes fried in fat and quantities of water from the stream, which both Roland and Marsden assured him was quite safe to drink. “You’ve never been in the mountains,” said Roland. “The water here isn’t like the over-used streams in lowland Mistala. Everything in the mountains is cleaner.”
Roland consumed his breakfast with equal relish, joking with Marsden about the utility of mages for lighting cooking fires. Sairis’s vision began to improve. He became gradually aware that they were sitting at one end of a clearing of waist-high grass, beneath an ancient oak. There was a shimmer in the air around them. “Illusory fold,” Marsden told him. “The hunters won’t find us.”
Sairis was starting into his third steak when Roland said, hesitantly, “Did you really cut a lock of my hair?”
Sairis went still. Roland’s blue eyes looked uncertain, as though he were steeling himself to hear something that would hurt. Well, you knew this was coming. Sairis swallowed. “No.”
Roland waited. When Sairis offered nothing more, he continued, “Then what?”
Sairis drew a deep breath. The elk meat was suddenly a lead weight in his stomach.
Roland set down his plate. “I’ve thought about it, and I’m not angry. I remember the way I reacted when I realized who you were. I’ve seen the way people treat you. I can’t blame you for taking precautions. But I need to know whether I was...a precaution.”
Sairis rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “Do we have to do this in front of fucking Marsden?”
Roland seemed to consider. “Yes.”
Sairis dropped his hands. He focused on the cooking coals. “Do you remember the mouse? How it swallowed a little of my blood? And then I had some control over it?”
Sairis risked a quick glance at Roland’s face, willing him to understand. He didn’t dare look at Marsden’s. However, Roland’s broad, honest features revealed complete incomprehension. “I never swallowed any of your blood.”
Sairis could feel the color rising in his cheeks. “No, you swallowed...something else.”
There was a long beat, during which Sairis sincerely wished for the earth to open up and swallow him. Then Roland laughed. He gave a great bark of laughter that rang around the clearing.
Sairis jumped. He looked at Roland to see whether he had experienced a mental break.
Roland was shaking, wiping tears from his eyes. He leaned over and put an arm around Sairis. “You didn’t plan that.”
“No, of course I didn’t plan that!” Sairis shot a furious glance at Marsden and saw that he was laughing, too, or trying very hard not to laugh, which was perhaps worse.
“You didn’t lay a trap for me.” Sairis could hear the relief in Roland’s voice.
“No, I just took advantage of your trust and ignorance.”
Roland wrapped both arms around him. “I would have told you to do it. I’d tell you to do it again.”
Sairis shut his eyes. He had not realized how he’d been dreading this moment. The relief at being forgiven spread like alcohol through his exhausted body.
He heard Marsden as though at a distance say, “That’s...exceptionally clever. Maybe you shouldn’t mention it to anyone else. It’s a technique that could be...abused.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” mumbled Sairis. He was slipping down into the dark, and this time he let himself go.
Chapter 14. Away from the World
Roland woke in the shade, feeling relaxed, and listening to the wind in the leaves as the sun rose towards noon. He was stretched on his sleeping pallet, wearing clean, dry clothes from his pack. He’d tried to wake Sairis to strip off his wet rags, but the man had been practically comatose. In the end, Roland had stripped off the clothes himself and wrapped Sairis in a blanket.
Marsden had left, saying that he needed to confuse their trail from the river, and he was still gone when Roland woke up from his nap. Roland hoped that didn’t mean he was bringing the hounds. Marsden hadn’t taken his horse, which Roland thought was a good sign. Cato and Marsden’s animal were both tethered a short distance away, grazing. Beyond them, the air had a distorted shimmer, like heat or the view through smoked glass. It gave Roland the strange impression of being suspended in time, cocooned away from the world.
Marsden returned at last. He sat down beside the fire, shucked off his coat, and rolled up his right sleeve. Roland saw that his forearm was dressed with a linen bandage.
“Were you badly burned?”
Marsden shrugged. “I’ve been worse. My glamour can hide injuries, but it does nothing to heal them.”
Roland sat up, stretching. “Can you heal them? With magic I mean?”
“Depends on how much I want to use. We can’t all be Sairis.”
Marsden u
nwound the dressing, which was spotted with blood and straw-colored fluid. As he said, no wound was visible on his skin. He took out a vial of salve and proceeded to dab it onto his arm. After he’d finished, Marsden wordlessly offered the bottle to Roland.
Roland was confused. “I wasn’t burned...”
Marsden tapped his right shoulder.
Roland reached to touch the place and winced when he encountered the spot where Sairis had bitten him. He could feel the heat climbing his neck as he took the salve. It occurred to him that Marsden was being remarkably civil about all this. They were in an extraordinary situation in which social norms were, perhaps, suspended, but most men would have subtly rendered their opinion of Roland’s romantic choices.
But then I suppose he can’t be too moralizing when he’s... She’s...? “You’re married to a woman,” Roland burst out.
Marsden raised one eyebrow.
“I mean...”
“Is this really the conversation you want to have with me, Your Highness?”
“I didn’t mean...” Roland passed a hand over his face. The world seemed full of traps. “It’s just Roland. And I meant no disrespect. My own tastes have never met with public approval.”
Marsden rewound a clean bandage over his arm. “My wife is perfectly aware of my origins.” Almost under his breath, he muttered, “You can’t wear a glamour all the time.”
Roland felt like an idiot. He’d never met the dean’s wife and couldn’t remember ever hearing much about her. “Is she another magician?”
Marsden smiled. “An ordinary math teacher. Although she says math is magic. I say thank the gods it isn’t.”
Roland laughed.
“It’s a difficult path you’ve set for yourself,” continued Marsden. “I wonder if you realize how difficult.”
“I didn’t choose it,” said Roland stiffly.
Marsden shook his head. “Not men. Dark wizards. Which you seem to attract, come to think of it. If you’d married Candice, she probably would have killed you.”
