by Beth Alvarez
Steeling himself, Vahn strode through the portal.
No matter his lack of a Gift, the power still rolled through him with an electric tingle and made all his hair stand on end. It was rather like the pins and needles sensation of a limb that had fallen asleep, except they jabbed from head to toe and all the way down to his core. He shuddered once he was clear of it and rubbed the back of his neck and his arms as if to rid himself of the unpleasant feeling. He’d always wondered if what mages felt when passing through Gates was worse. Somehow, he’d never thought to ask what it felt like for anyone else.
Though the auditorium usually held any number of mages on their way to some other part of the college, whether day or night, it was curiously empty now. Vahn’s footsteps echoed ominously as he walked. He’d been to Archmage Arrick’s office a handful of times; perhaps he’d find the man there. Though Vahn considered Shymin a friend, he didn’t mean to seek her. As far as he knew, she’d visited the college only a few times more than he. And if a mage needed to visit a place before they could open a Gate to it, he didn’t see how she could help him reach the Royal City. Their mages had never ventured that far. No, he definitely needed a college mage.
Frowning at the emptiness, he turned the corner into the hallway and almost collided with a white-robed figure.
“Majesty!” Edagan gasped, just before he caught her shoulder and pinned her to the wall.
8
A Gathering Army
“Where is Firal?” Vahn strained so hard not to shake the mage in his hands that veins bulged in his hands and arms.
Edagan jerked out of his grasp, her fingers twitching in a gesture he’d seen countless times before. Gestures weren’t necessary for working magic, but many mages used them as a crutch, and they almost all used the same motions. That one meant she’d spun a ward around them to deaden the sounds of their voices.
“How did you escape?” Normally steadfast, the Master of Earth looked shaken.
“Answer my question!” Vahn growled through clenched teeth. His hand went for his sword before he could stop himself.
“I thought she was in Ilmenhith. I came hoping to send word to her—”
“Came from where?” His voice pitched low and dangerous.
Edagan drew back. “Core. When the temple was attacked, I fled into the ruins with my magelings. The last I’d heard, you’d been taken prisoner by Envesi, and—”
“I don’t have time for the whole story,” Vahn snapped. “Firal is gone. If you don’t know where she is, I need to speak to Archmage Arrick.”
“He’s dead.”
Vahn froze.
“I didn’t believe the news myself. I thought I would find him, but I’ve just come from his office and I fear we have little time to escape before we’re found.” Edagan spun away and hurried down the hall. She did not go far before she stopped to look back at him, her brow furrowed. “Come.”
Vahn glanced over his shoulder toward the auditorium. Arrick dead? But Envesi had just come from the Grand College. She’d met with him only that morning. Unless...
Understanding hit him like a wave. He shuddered and hurried after Edagan. “Firal’s been—”
“Shh,” Edagan hissed.
Vahn had thought the ward was still in place. He lowered his voice. “According to my father, she’s been kidnapped. But the court mages disappeared, as well as Ordin Straes and all the temple’s heads of affinity.”
“That doesn’t sound like a kidnapping to me,” Edagan muttered. “More like a rescue party.”
It wasn’t comforting to hear his thoughts echoed. “I’ve been out of Ilmenhith so long, I thought you’d been part of it.”
The mage shook her head and led him across the abandoned courtyard. The archway that held the permanent Gate to Ilmenhith’s palace stood empty, the hollow frame eerie in the moonlight. Ahead, a permanent Gate to the shore remained.
Edagan led him through without another word.
From the shore, the Grand College was beautiful to behold. It soared from the top of the jointed basalt columns that rose from the sea, its spidery towers and buttresses illuminated by the glow of the stars beyond. Golden light in windows marked where mages must be, though they were few and far between. The permanent Gate from the college to the coast shone like a pinprick of light in the courtyard, lit by the dozens of buildings at their backs.
Vahn had been to the coastal city that served as the capital of Lore, but not often, and he had never ventured far. He stared at the scene as if to commit it to memory.
“Come,” Edagan said gruffly, laying a hand on his arm. “I will tell you what I can.”
He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear, but he followed.
She remained quiet as they wove through the city. Eventually, they reached a shabby-looking inn that bustled with life. Sailors and dock hands filled the front room, but they cleared a path for the mage in front of him and never gave her a second glance. They were used to mages, this close to the college, and it seemed that included their pushy and authoritative ways.
Instead of heading for the stairs to the lodgings as he expected, she took him to a room at the back of the inn. A private dining chamber, he expected. The moment she opened the door, he understood why.
Two Masters in dirty white stood among a sea of magelings in their colored robes. Every face turned their direction, the despair on the magelings’ faces replaced with awe.
They knew their king.
Given the circumstances, Vahn didn’t know if that was good or not.
“Balen,” Edagan prompted gently.
The Master of Fire flicked his fingers in the same gesture of spinning a ward. With all the ears that waited outside the door, Vahn was grateful for the precaution.
“Now tell me what’s happened,” Edagan ordered, reminding him of a stern grandmother. He was compelled to oblige.
“I hardly know where to begin.” Vahn sighed and raked his fingers through his blond hair. A mageling pulled a chair from somewhere and pushed it behind him. He sat without a thought. “So much has happened since I left Ilmenhith.”
“Well, start at that point.” Edagan shrugged. “Then I shall tell you what happened to us.”
Vahn started with the problems he’d overlooked; the party his father had chosen and the path they took, which led them straight to where Shymin’s party waited to capture them. He shared what he could of his time as a captive in Alwhen, though he left out Envesi’s offer to aid him. Edagan and Balen knew of their struggles, but it was no business for magelings to overhear. He concluded with the tale of Firal’s apparent kidnapping and Envesi’s offer to transport him to the Grand College.
All the while, Edagan’s frown grew deeper.
“I should have expected Shymin’s involvement, given her history,” the Master of Earth muttered. “Now what I’ve seen makes more sense.The girl being easy to control was a boon when she was younger, but I’d hoped she would outgrow it. Now I thank every one of the Lifetree’s leaves her sister is Archmage. If anyone can manage her, it will be Kytenia.”
“I don’t think we’ll solve much with the force we have here,” Balen said softly, casting Vahn an apologetic look. “The magelings with us were all we were able to rescue from the temple when Envesi attacked us. As it is, it’s a miracle we made our way down to Core. The permanent Gate there has not yet been closed.”
“Core’s Gate opens to a trade station just north of the city. We came thinking we could find shelter and reinforcements at the Grand College, but the place was in a frenzy.” Edagan eased herself into another chair offered by a mageling. “I fear we’ve been here no more than a few hours, so you’ve caught us without a plan. Arrick was killed this morning and Shymin was put in his place as acting leader. We were able to slip out of the college in all the confusion. I returned with doubts as to the legitimacy of Arrick’s death, but even if I hadn’t heard the council, I felt his unmaking in the air.”
Shudders rolled through the mages like a ripp
le.
“What reason did she have to kill Arrick?” Vahn glanced between the Masters, but Balen shook his head, so he focused on Edagan instead. “I thought the college was allied with the temple. If Envesi controls the temple, she’d control that alliance. Wouldn’t she?”
“She’s a madwoman,” Edagan said. “What reason does she have for anything?”
“Which is precisely why I don’t want to be gone too long.” Vahn rubbed the back of his neck. Aside from her name, he didn’t know Neve, the third Master with Edagan and Balen, but their presence meant he’d be able to return to Ilmenhith with ease once his consultation with Vicamros was over. Both Balen and Edagan were familiar with the Gating parlor in the palace.
But that left the question of how he was to reach the Royal City to begin with. He rubbed his temples, thinking of the maps he’d studied all afternoon. Riding could take weeks, assuming he could find a horse. He’d left so quickly he had nothing more than his sword, crown, and the few coins in his pockets he kept handy for tipping messengers. He could sell the crown come morning, but that wouldn’t get him far.
“What is that?” Neve asked in a murmur.
Edagan and Balen swiveled to face the door. Without prompting, the magelings stood and organized themselves behind the Masters.
“Mages,” Edagan said before Vahn could ask. “Coming closer.”
“Do you think they’re coming for us?” Balen asked.
The Master of Earth harrumphed. “Really, Balen, don’t be daft. They wouldn’t send such a small party to recover us. If anything, it’s a messenger.”
“A messenger from the college could be a problem.” Vahn stood and stalked to the door. He drew his sword slowly, muting the sound with his left hand.
“Wait.” Edagan raised a finger. “Something about them feels familiar.”
The door creaked open and, seeing nearly two dozen mages behind Vahn with his sword drawn, Councilor Redoram Parthanus clapped a hand to the velvet biggin on his head. “Oh, goodness me.”
Rhyllyn tugged his cravat a little tighter, tucked it into his vest, and wiggled the knot straight. Regardless of how fine his clothing was, there were still times he looked in the mirror and saw little more than a shabby urchin. The vibrant glow of his blue serpent’s eyes helped detract from it, but his earliest memories were of life on the streets. No matter how long it had been, no matter how far he’d come, he still felt like an impostor whenever he dressed for court.
His vest was a rich burgundy and gold brocade, his shirt and cravat fine gold silk. Rhyllyn hadn’t picked the colors himself, but Alira insisted they’d look good on him. Matters like clothing still seemed unimportant compared to having food on the table. That was one of the reasons he was fond of cooking, but he did acknowledge that appearing in front of the king in his stained apron and linen shirt simply wouldn’t do.
“You’re sure he wants to speak to me?” Rhyllyn asked. He cringed when Alira glowered.
“For the dozenth time, yes.” She twirled her hand in the air as she paced. “Even if he hadn’t requested you by name, Vicamros ordered every mage in Roberian be returned to the Royal City. That includes you.”
Rhyllyn licked the palm of one olive-scaled hand and swiped it through the stubborn forelock of his mousy brown hair that refused to lay with the rest.
Vicamros was one of his dearest friends but as a rule, Rhyllyn wasn’t involved in matters of the court. That was Rune’s domain, and Rhyllyn was happy to leave it that way. The mages had inundated him with politics, as well as the logic and reason needed to deal with them, but he didn’t have experience. Vicamros was king and Rune was... well, Rune. What Rhyllyn was expected to offer in a formal meeting of council, he had no idea.
“Are you ready yet?” Alira asked, exasperated.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rhyllyn pulled on his deep burgundy overcoat, flicked dust from the velvet and straightened a cuff that had folded back on itself. The cuffs bore heavy gold embroidery that matched the shapes embroidered down the thigh of his charcoal gray breeches.
“Good. There’s one more thing I need you to do before we go.” She gave herself a once-over in the mirror, though she didn’t preen. Rhyllyn had never seen her do more than glance at a mirror long enough to straighten the part of her white hair.
“What’s that?” He padded across the floor, flinching at the click of his claws against the wood. Perhaps he ought to wear his leather spats. No one expected him or his brother to wear shoes in court—for obvious reasons—but with all the rest of him dressed up, it was odd to be barefoot.
“Your brother’s access stone. He left it here when he went to the Royal City, he’ll need it now. Fetch it?”
“Of course.” Rhyllyn ducked past her, slipped out of his room and jogged to the narrow spiral staircase that led to the loft. He didn’t visit Rune’s quarters often, though they were never locked. His brother preferred privacy, and Rhyllyn preferred to respect it. But as primary housekeeper, he did know where everything was kept. That alone made him a better choice to retrieve anything, though the grief Rune would give Alira if he found out she’d been in his things was a close second.
The loft spanned the top of the entire manor house, though the less usable parts had been walled off. It was hot in the summer and chill in the winter, but Rune still preferred it over the finer rooms on the house’s second floor.
Several large dormers let in plenty of light, and the glass-paned windows could be opened to let air flow through on summer days. Most of the windows had chairs tucked beneath them, but the large one on the back of the house hosted a wide seat beneath a wider window that stood as tall as a man. That was Rune’s favorite spot, a fact betrayed by the stacks of books and scattered papers that surrounded it. A blanket spilled from the seat to pool on the floor. More often than not, Rhyllyn found his brother sleeping there instead of the wide and comfortable down-filled bed at the far end of the loft.
Rhyllyn crossed to the window, shook out the blanket and tossed it to one end of the window seat. The useful things were usually there. When Rune was home, his sword would be sheathed and propped against the wall and an assortment of keys, stones and jewelry ended up scattered across the floor. The odd collection of things the man kept made Rhyllyn wonder if his soul hadn’t been meant for a crow.
He found the access stone atop one of the stacks of books, weighing down a piece of thin paper covered in lines of what could have been poetry, if any of it were ever finished. A crow or a bard, Rhyllyn thought, bouncing the stone in the palm of his hand.
Though he’d been promised an access stone of his own, Rhyllyn wasn’t eager to own one. Even in carrying his brother’s, he felt the weight of the responsibility that came with it. The stone itself was simple, a mottled piece of green and white jasper that had been polished to a reflective shine. Coils of silver wrapped both ends and connected it to a black leather strap, which was knotted at just the right length to be pulled on overhead. From what Rhyllyn understood, the stone had to touch the user’s skin to take effect. He didn’t know how it worked, but along with the burden of responsibility, the stone also gave him an incredible sense of power.
Enchanted objects were rare, something only the Alda’anan could make. Rhyllyn occasionally wondered if his free magic might give him the strength needed to create his own, but thoughts of what the Grand College would demand if he could prevented him from trying. He appreciated the college mages and everything they’d done for him, but he also enjoyed his freedom. In that, he and his brother were alike.
Perhaps that was why Rhyllyn so dreaded being called before the council. He would have done anything for Vicamros, even take a seat on the Royal City council if he was asked. But that didn’t mean he had to like it, and it didn’t mean he had to look forward to going. He would much rather stay home, baking bread and stealing off with some of those papers by the window so he could turn those poetic lines into songs.
He lingered for as long as he thought he could get away with, then s
ighed and returned downstairs. “Do I need to get anything else?”
Alira locked the front door. “No, I believe we’re ready.”
Rhyllyn stopped on the bottom step. “It’s just the two of us?”
“Of course. Why?”
“We’re not riding to the capital first?”
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rhyllyn. That would take hours.”
“But Rune’s not here,” he protested. She couldn’t possibly expect him to open a Gate alone.
Alira planted her hands on her hips and gave him a hard look. Evidently, that was exactly what she expected.
Crestfallen, he took the last step and cringed when his claws clacked against the parquet floor. He should have worn his spats. It was too late now; any retreat upstairs to get anything else would be seen as procrastination. He could cooperate now, or receive a tongue-lashing and some sort of punishment and then be forced to cooperate afterwards.
“You have to learn eventually.” Her voice softened. “He was not much older than you when he discovered he could do it himself, you know.”
“I know,” Rhyllyn said, scuffing his clawed toes against the floor and stuffing the access stone into the pocket of his breeches. “But I’m not him.”
Alira studied him a long while before she sighed and closed the distance between them. She rested her hands on his shoulders. They stood the same height now, or Rhyllyn was a shade taller, but he still saw her as a towering, imposing figure.
“A great deal will be asked of you, Rhyllyn. I advised against it, but at the end of the day, that’s all I can do. The councilors are advisors, not rulers. We cannot defy the king’s word.”
“And I’m willing to help, but everyone seems to want more than I can give.” Rhyllyn tried not to feel bitter. It had always been that way. From the moment he’d been taken from the streets and his magic unbound, he’d faced nothing but demands. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed Rune’s company so much. Though their first meeting had required his brother to push him, he’d never asked much else. Occasional assistance opening Gates, yes, but Rune was the only one who could withstand the torrent of power Rhyllyn could access. And he never asked Rhyllyn to handle the opening, just to lend him the power to do it himself.