She thought, fast. “What do you intend to do?”
“Push towards the city,” Alassa said. “And fast.”
Emily nodded. Randor would need time to build up his power, now he’d let the world see what he’d become. He’d kill his pet magicians first, of course – they’d be the ones who’d try to stop him once the penny dropped – but afterwards he’d have to hunt for more magicians to turn into sources of energy. There were magicians in Alexis... she made a mental note to send them a warning as quickly as possible. Randor wouldn’t hesitate to cut his way through the entire city to boost his power reserves. It was possible, just possible, that they’d be able to cut him off from his food.
And then we can wear him down, she thought. Jade, Cat and Emily herself might be able to keep Randor off-balance long enough for his power to run dry. It was a fairly standard tactic for dealing with newborn necromancers, although it tended to be risky. Necromancers might not have the finesse of trained sorcerers, but they often had enough raw power to make up for it. If we meet him in the open...
“Good thinking,” she said. “Do you want to ask for help?”
Alassa scowled. “Not particularly,” she said, grimly. “If the White Council sticks its oar in now, it will be difficult to get it out. If we can deal with my father before the news spreads too far...”
“We might need help in dealing with him,” Emily said. Should she write to Void? Or Lady Barb? Or Sergeant Miles? “Jade, Cat and I might not be enough...”
“If you can come up with something, do it,” Alassa said. “We’ll ask for help only if there’s no other choice.”
Emily looked down at the dirt floor. “Alassa...”
“I understand your concerns,” Alassa said. “But I am also concerned with keeping the country intact. I’ll call for help if we truly cannot handle him on our own.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Emily said, doubtfully. Randor might not have had enough time to sacrifice a few dozen magicians, but he was skilful. And self-centered enough to keep a tight grip on his thoughts as he drew the magic into himself. He’d go mad – he was already going mad – but it would take time. “If we can’t stop him, he’ll do a hell of a lot of damage before he can be stopped by someone else.”
“I know,” Alassa said. She bit her lip. “The responsibility is mine.”
Emily said nothing. The guilt still gnawed at her. Alassa was right – she knew Alassa was right – about how the tensions that had finally torn the country apart had been brewing for years, but Emily still felt guilty. Imaiqah was badly wounded, lingering on the verge of death. There was no way to know if she’d survive, not until she opened her eyes. And the curse might have destroyed her mind. Imaiqah might never return to them.
Alassa reached out and squeezed her hand. “None of this was your fault,” she said. “And if you hadn’t meddled, it would be harder for the commoners to assert themselves.”
Which may not work in your favor, Emily thought, coldly. What will you do when you become Queen?
The tent flap opened. Jade stepped into the tent, looking tired.
“We should be ready to begin the march tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve sent out scouts in all directions, with orders to track the main body of the king’s troops. If they should happen to spot any defectors, they’ll send them in our direction so they can be vetted.”
Emily leaned forward. “What’s Randor doing?”
“It seems that he’s forcing his troops to begin a march back to Alexis,” Jade said. “They abandoned their main camp shortly after the king returned.”
He’s buying time to build up his power, Emily thought. She shivered. And then he’ll turn and come for us.
“Very good,” Alassa said. Only someone who knew her very well would have heard the tremor in her voice. “Is there any other business?”
“Cat’s grumbling at the healers, but they promise his leg will be back to normal by tomorrow,” Jade said. He nodded to Emily. “Emily did a good job of repairing it, but the healers had to re-break the bone so they could fix it permanently. You might want to go see him before you go to bed.”
“Good idea,” Alassa said. “But first, I want you to talk to Sir Roger.”
Emily met her eyes. “I don’t know him that well.”
“You know him better than I do,” Alassa countered. “I never had the chance to really speak to him.”
Randor must have kept them apart, Emily thought. He wouldn’t want his daughter forming an alliance with the commander of the king’s musketmen.
“Very well,” she said, as Jade led her out of the tent. “Where is he?”
The tent was small, barely large enough for one man. There was no guard outside, but Emily had no trouble sensing the two wards snapping and crackling around the tent. One was designed to keep people out, the other to keep people from leaving. She pressed forward, feeling the wards starting to part. Jade had put her on the approved list, clearly. She nodded in approval as she pushed open the flap, casting a light-spell ahead. Sir Roger was lying on a blanket, blinking under the bright light. He seemed to have aged twenty years since she’d last seem him. It hadn’t been that long ago.
Randor was plotting to marry him to Imaiqah, Emily recalled, as Sir Roger sat up. I wonder if he knows what happened to her.
“Lady Emily,” Sir Roger said. He was unbound, but he was – effectively – a prisoner. Emily knew he knew it. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Emily said. Sir Roger had been a good man, although unnervingly loyal to his king. It had taken Randor jumping into necromancy to break those ties. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“I understand,” Sir Roger said. “Ask away.”
Emily carefully cast a truth spell into the air, mingled with a charm that should encourage him to talk. Sir Roger’s face showed no awareness of the magic. She hoped that meant he couldn’t sense it. She had every right to interrogate him under truth spells, if she wished – he was a defector, after all – but he wouldn’t like it. She had no doubt that his resentment might turn dangerous further down the line.
“You came here,” she said. “Why?”
Sir Roger sucked in a breath. “The king has gone mad,” he said, harshly. “He was using necromancy. Necromancy! I couldn’t stay with him.”
“And you came to his daughter,” Emily said. “Why?”
Sir Roger swallowed, hard. “He has to be stopped. His daughter is the only one who might be able to do it. Lady Emily... please let me help.”
“You abandoned your liege lord,” Emily pointed out, her voice colder than she meant. “How can we trust you to serve us?”
“I did not abandon him until he turned to necromancy,” Sir Roger countered. “Necromancy is unforgivable.”
Emily nodded, slowly. Sir Roger had a point, as little as she might want to admit it. Sir Roger hadn’t left until Randor had really crossed the line. He’d stayed with his master, through mass slaughter and destruction, until his master had gone mad. Indeed, he couldn’t be blamed for staying with the king. He couldn’t be punished for carrying out orders from his liege lord. But necromancy? Sir Roger couldn’t be blamed for running.
“I will pledge myself to the princess,” Sir Roger said. “I will do anything for her, whatever the price, if it means stopping the king from destroying us all. I will swear an oath and...”
You swore an oath to the king, Emily thought coldly, as Sir Roger kept talking. But the oath didn’t cover necromancy.
“All right,” she said, cutting off the stream of words. The spell had clearly worked better than she’d hoped. “Tell me, how did he hide his true nature? His new power?”
Sir Roger’s answers weren’t particularly reassuring. Emily didn’t think Randor had been experimenting with necromancy before their meeting in the dungeons, although she couldn’t swear to it. She hadn’t realized he’d become a necromancer when he’d been talking to his daughter... if, of course, that had been the real Randor. It ha
d to be, she told herself after a moment. Randor would never have risked letting one of his sorcerers experiment with necromancy. A madman might be able to circumvent his oaths and turn on his king.
He must have killed Nightingale first, she thought. Sir Roger confirmed he hadn’t seen Nightingale since Randor had tried to have Emily executed. It would certainly explain why Randor had reacted so badly when Nightingale’s name had been mentioned. And... maybe there weren’t any other victims between then and now. That would certainly explain how he managed to shroud himself so well.
She shook her head and relaxed the spell. “Welcome to the war,” she said. Sir Roger could be trusted, as far as anyone could be trusted. “We should have a job for you.”
“Anything,” Sir Roger said. “Anything at all.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE CARRIAGE LURCHED, AGAIN.
Emily cursed under her breath as the wooden flooring shifted underneath her. The carriage was larger than the regular carriages, large enough to hold her papers and a handful of books as well as a small collection of blankets, but it wasn’t remotely comfortable. She’d cast a handful of spells to smooth the journey as much as possible, yet – somehow – the spells refused to last. Her body felt as if she’d been beaten black and blue.
She steadied herself and glared down at the diagram in front of her. She’d spent several hours charming the paperwork so only a handful of people could read the document, but she’d scribbled so many notes in her bad handwriting that she suspected she needn’t have bothered. She was trying to recreate a particular spell from scratch, then rewrite it to suit her current needs. Every time she thought she’d solved a problem, two more materialized to plague her. She was starting to think she needed help, although she didn’t know who she should ask. Neither Jade nor Cat had seen anything like the spell in front of her.
Lady Barb could help, she thought, sourly. But that would mean bringing her here.
She eyed the bag she’d dumped in the corner, containing the chat parchments. Frieda and Lady Barb had both written to her, asking if there was any truth to the rumors. Emily hadn’t been sure what to write back, so she’d written nothing. Frieda might not spot an evasive response, but Lady Barb definitely would. Emily didn’t want to think about what Lady Barb would say if she thought Emily was playing games with necromancy. The older woman had a duty to report all such matters to the White Council.
Which might get them involved too soon for Alassa, Emily thought. She would have preferred to deal with the necromancer first, then worry about the future, but Alassa thought differently. They might try to dismantle the entire kingdom.
She pushed the thought out of her mind and went back to work, carefully diagramming out the entire spell. Professor Thande would either be proud of her, she decided after the core of the spell was worked out, or tell her to go live on an isolated mountaintop if she wanted to experiment with truly dangerous magic. Emily wouldn’t have blamed him. Master Wolfe’s spells had gotten a little out of hand, even though they were so advanced that no one had realized they were spells. She’d been the one to have that insight and, she admitted privately, it had been through sheer luck.
The carriage lurched again, then stopped. Emily reached out with her senses, trying to determine if the convoy was under attack. She was in no state for a fight – she’d been pouring magic into a pair of batteries ever since the army had started to move – but she might have no choice. Randor’s army had scattered – the king had taken a large number of men back to the city, leaving the rest to flee into the countryside – yet Jade had warned that Randor would do everything in his power to slow the army down. The king needed time to boost his power.
Someone knocked on the door. Emily hastily cast a protective spell over the papers, making sure to ward their mere existence from prying eyes, then opened the door. The air was cold and damp, even though the sun was beaming down. Iodine was standing there, looking as if she would sooner be somewhere – anywhere – else.
“The princess requests your presence,” Iodine said, in a dull monotone. “I’m to take you to her.”
“Then do,” Emily said. She jumped down to the muddy road – she hoped a carriage hadn’t been caught in the mud – and closed the door, locking it with a spell. “Shall we go?”
Iodine turned and led the way through a maze of carriages. Emily followed, shaking her head in amused disbelief. The ground was muddy, puddles of water lying everywhere; in the distance, she could see fallen trees and ruined villages. It looked as through the area had been hit with a tidal wave. She watched the birds fly overhead, swooping down like vultures whenever they saw a dead body, and shivered. There was death in the air.
Alassa was standing beside Jade, her face grim. Jade didn’t look much better, his eyes flickering from side to side as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Cat, Sir William and Sir Roger were handling the pickets, ensuring that Randor couldn’t get an army into position to attack without being detected, but Jade had made it clear that Randor had turned everything upside down. A lone necromancer could simply walk into the army and start to kill. Emily shivered, again. They could be walking into a trap.
“They burst the dam,” Alassa said, by way of greeting. “The waters rushed down to the sea.”
“Which is going to slow us down,” Jade said, as the first wave of men started to cross the foaming waters. “It isn’t going to be fun.”
Emily had to smile. “When is it ever fun?”
Jade shot her a sharp look. “We’ve picked up a few hundred more deserters, mainly infantrymen,” he added. “I’ve had them sent to the rear, for the moment. It won’t be long before Randor realizes he can send infiltrators into our ranks.”
“If he’s thinking straight,” Emily said. The texts had made it clear that newborn necromancers rapidly slid down the road to madness. Randor had already been cracking up when he’d used the necromantic rite. “He may not be thinking tactically.”
“We can’t take the chance,” Jade said. “And we don’t have time to vet all of the newcomers.”
Alassa motioned for her to stand closer, then cast a privacy ward over the three of them. “Is your spell ready?”
Emily took a breath. “I think I can cast it,” she said. She’d been deliberately vague about what the spell actually did, but she was sure it could take out a necromancer. In hindsight, there were curious similarities between the proto-mimic and the netting spell that had almost snared her. “And it should be able to stop him.”
“We’ll be at the city walls in two days, unless he challenges us before we reach the city,” Alassa said. “Can you sneak into the city?”
“Perhaps,” Emily said. “Do we have contact with the people inside the city?”
“Yeah,” Jade said. “Randor started cracking down hard the day we fled the city, but the Levellers still have a couple of tunnels open. You can get through them” – his lips quirked into a smile – “just like we explored the tunnels in the mountains.”
“Hopefully without the monsters,” Emily said. She’d seen everything from giant scorpions to reptilian gorillas under the Craggy Mountains... and Sergeant Miles had told his students that there were worse things further down. Emily wouldn’t have been surprised to encounter a Balrog. “If we can get into the city without being noticed... what then?”
“There’s a passage into the castle,” Alassa said. Her lips thinned, noticeably, as she passed Emily a vial of blood. “You’ll need to take some of my blood to open the outer door. You know how to do that, don’t you?”
Emily nodded. “But surely Randor will have the tunnel guarded?”
“You couldn’t get through the inner door without someone opening it for you, even if you had his blood,” Alassa said. “We’re going to have to ask Alicia to open it for us. For you.”
“Oh,” Emily said.
She sucked in a breath. She’d corresponded with Alicia through the chat parchment over the last few days, but she hadn’t le
arnt very much. Alicia and her infant son were practically under house arrest. She hadn’t even seen the king since his return from the battlefield. Emily suspected that it was only a matter of time before Alicia was sacrificed herself. Randor, in his madness, might blame her for his misfortunes. A necromancer wouldn’t care to realize that he’d brought his troubles on himself. That might lead to disaster.
“And if she can’t open the door?” Emily met Alassa’s eyes. “Or if she won’t? What then?”
“We take the city by storm,” Alassa said. She sounded calm, but Emily could hear the horror in her voice. People had been flooding into Alexis from the surrounding region, fleeing Alassa and her army. There were millions of people in the city, millions of people who would be killed if Alassa stormed the city. The slaughter would be immense. “We batter down the wards and blast the castle to bedrock.”
Emily shuddered. She’d seen the castle’s defenses. An attacker would need at least ten-to-one odds to guarantee victory... and the cost would be staggering. King Randor and his ancestors had set out to build an impregnable fortress—and they’d succeeded. Emily doubted the secret passages could be used to bring in an entire army. Even with Alassa’s blood, they were going to have problems picking their way through the wards. If Randor got the slightest hint they were on their way, he could have an entire army camped out on the entrance or merely collapse the tunnel onto their heads. No, they had to sneak into the castle. A frontal assault would cost them dearly.
“I understand,” she said. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d snuck into a necromancer’s fortress, although this one would be uniquely dangerous. Randor would have complete control of the wards as well as his own formidable powers. “I can do it.”
Jade rubbed his forehead. “I wish I was going with you,” he said, grimly. “Three spellcasters are better than two.”
“Alassa needs you here,” Emily said. She would have liked to have a third magician along, but they didn’t have anyone else who could stand up to a necromancer for more than a few seconds. The magicians attached to the army would be nothing more than free power to a necromancer. “When do we go?”
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