Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “It was.” Contare tried to say more, but Natayl bulled on.

  “Not an hour ago, you said, ‘The level of planning and secrecy necessary for carrying this out surpasses even that of the attack at the Hippodrome.’ Do you stand by that statement?”

  “I do. But it doesn’t warrant a full lockdown. We shouldn’t be any more restrictive than necessary.”

  “The attackers escaped,” Natayl reminded him. “The search is hitting dead ends.”

  “Closing the gates ensures no one will leave, but it allows nearly everyone in the city to go about their business.”

  “No one should go about their business until this is over.”

  “Yes, they should,” Josselin said, leaning forward and pressing the fingertips of one hand against the Table. “Ordinary people see Circle Law as punishment. That can make them more likely to listen to the rogue magi who speak against us. Rumors are already—”

  “Your people may be more likely to listen,” Serafina interrupted.

  “Don’t start,” Josselin snapped.

  “Unfortunately, it is relevant,” Serafina said. “All the rogue magi that we captured after the Hippodrome attack are from L’Abbanist kingdoms. All the names of the leaders that we uncovered at that time are from L’Abbanist languages. Am I correct in assuming that all the magi that you are tracking now are also L’Abbanist?”

  “We’re uncertain,” Contare said flatly.

  “This isn’t about race or religion,” Josselin added. “Three of the trails we’re following went to ground in neighborhoods that aren’t L’Abbanist. And one of the other two rigged fox-dens is managed by a Kroldon couple, who’ve now disappeared.”

  “They weren’t magi,” Oran interjected. The Kroldon sorcerer’s chair was directly opposite Tabitha. “And it seems that they were kidnapped, not that they fled.” He had such an ordinary voice for a man with such unsettling eyes. They were black and fierce, just like Borjhul’s.

  Tabitha could not stop herself from glancing at him next. He was standing between Oran and Malaya, his arms folded across his broad chest like a bruiser at a tavern. He was staring at … Koren? It was hard to judge the angle from here, but at least those predatory eyes were not aimed at her.

  “It’s certainly possible that they weren’t willing participants,” Contare was saying. “With additional resources, we may be able to find them.”

  Oran only nodded to this, rubbing his short beard. Unlike his hair, it had no grey, which was strange. Usually a man’s beard greyed before his hair did.

  Serafina spoke again. “Nevertheless, these violent magi are from your kingdoms and nowhere else. It stands to reason that you created this problem, and that it will persist until you fix it.”

  “Black hell, woman,” Natayl growled. “What do you think we’re trying to do?”

  “Fixing it doesn’t mean purging it,” she returned. “What about their leaders? What did you find out about them back in the autumn? Pascin told us that two are par’thaumats. Can you talk to them, or did you already corrode them?”

  Natayl snorted. “We need to find them before we can corrode them.”

  “Find them or not, corrode them or not, you’re going to keep creating these maniacs until you figure out why they’re turning against you,” Serafina declared. “I suggest you start with the curriculum of your Academy.”

  Now Josselin bristled. “It’d be your Academy, too, if you took any interest in it.”

  “No, it’s yours. You’ve made it yours. My magi don’t need your lectures.”

  “Then why are sixteen of them enrolled?”

  “How many graduated last year?”

  “Four.”

  “If I may drag us back to the point?” Natayl interrupted them. “It’s not prudent to open the gates before we find the rogues, Serafina. We can’t ignore this.”

  “We should have,” Malaya said, her face sallow and sour, a withered apple indeed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’ll say it anyway. Are you certain that the man who died last night was not the man who was supposed to die?”

  “You said that last time,” Natayl sneered, “after we’d collected fourteen confessions.”

  “Confessions can cover other crimes.” Malaya glared at him, then around the Table. “We don’t know.”

  “Yes, we do,” Lasfe said in his soft, mellow voice before Natayl could answer. The Essenan sorcerer’s bald head was a globe of white in the shadow of his seat. “Worry or not for yourself as you will, Malaya, but I think it’s safe to say that both times, we were the targets.” His words carried particular weight. A rocket had hit him in the chest during the Hippodrome attack. King Motthias had died because Natayl had been saving Lasfe’s life instead.

  I did not let the king die, Tabitha told herself once more. Natayl did. Lasfe would have survived. It was Natayl’s decision and his fault.

  “Probably,” Malaya nodded toward Lasfe. “You are probably right in believing that. But if you aren’t, then we need to consider other possibilities. That we are overreacting to this latest attack. That we never should have reacted to it at all. That we already caught all the rogue magi, and that the man who died was the real target. Think about it, Contare. Your theocracies exist to eliminate heresy.”

  “There are much simpler ways to eliminate heretics,” Contare said, “than the elaborate trap I saw in that fox-den.”

  “Right, just imprison them,” Natayl muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear his disapproval.

  Malaya was shrugging, with a sinuous shift of her shoulders and neck that did not belong on the body of an old lady. “True. But.”

  “Malaya,” Serafina said, her ear-necklace swinging as she leaned forward, “if you don’t think we were the targets, if you think we should have ignored the attack, then you should agree to open the gates.”

  “We can’t do that now,” Malaya said sharply. “The time for that was three hours ago, when the gates should have opened. I repeat: We have already acknowledged the attack, and to attack us carries consequences.”

  “An attack on L’Abbanists, by L’Abbanists. This need not involve the entire Circle.”

  “Serafina.” Contare’s voice went soft with entreaty. “It might have been Ilene under those blades last night. If so, would you still want to open the gates?”

  Standing between Serafina and Hamid, Ilene turned not only her head, but almost her whole body, to look up anxiously at her predecessor. During their time in the labyrinth with the others, Ilene had helped Tabitha get through the ordeal in many small ways, including that awful swim down the well. Tabitha had grown fond of her, but that did not change how big and gawky the girl was, or how plainly she wore her emotions on her face. She had very little composure, and she startled visibly when Serafina retorted, “Ilene has more sense than to walk into a fox-den at an enemy’s invitation.”

  “So I didn’t have enough sense to avoid being hit by a rocket?” Lasfe asked, and Tabitha could not tell if his amusement was meant to mock or if it was genuine. She was fairly sure that the flash of horror across Rossin’s pale face was real.

  A deep, slow chuckle came from Hamid. “Sense had nothing to do with it,” he said. “Your reflexes stink.”

  “I’ll remember you said that the next time we fight,” Lasfe returned, but Tabitha still could not tell if he was joking.

  “Or at the next attack,” Hamid said. “There’ll be one unless we end this. I’m voting for the lockdown.”

  “You are?” Malaya sounded astonished as she looked past Oran to the Aedseli sorcerer. Tabitha sensed motion as Contare shifted in his chair, and when she moved her eyes to her left, she could see Lasfe’s incredulous expression. To her right, Josselin and Serafina looked just as surprised.

  Hamid’s face had such dark skin, Tabitha found it difficult to read, even when he sat forward and more of the room’s light was cast over it. “It doesn’t matter where these rogues come from or what their agenda might be,” he said firmly. “The
y’ve come to our city and shed our blood. Our response needs to be immediate and severe.”

  To his right, Arundel was looking up at him with a worried expression that mirrored Ilene’s. Tabitha could tell that he badly wanted to speak, but she knew that he respected the rules too much for an outburst.

  Lasfe was holding up his hand, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “We did that after the Hippodrome, and it didn’t work.”

  Hamid shook his head. “We’re not—”

  “Hear me out,” Lasfe interrupted. He did not do that often. Tabitha saw many raised eyebrows around the Table. “After the Hippodrome attack, which we officially ignored, we rounded up seventeen magi who were involved here on Maze Island and nine more in Adelard, along with six non-magi accomplices. We handled the non-magi and twenty of the magi as we would any other criminals. But we executed the other six.” He looked to his right at Pascin. “Are those numbers correct?”

  Executed? Tabitha only barely kept her shock from showing, and she could sense it from Graegor too. The Circle had refused to acknowledge the rumors that the malfunctioning fireworks at the Hippodrome had been deliberately sabotaged, but of course there were rumors. She had told her friends what had really happened that Equinox day, but since Natayl had told her nothing about the ensuing search, she had not been able to confirm or deny any of the rumors about that. But none of those rumors had mentioned executions. Usually, non-magi criminals were marked and exiled, and magi criminals were also corroded. The Circle rarely executed anyone.

  “But plainly,” Lasfe was saying, “despite our actions, the rogue magi have not been quelled, and are even more determined now.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” Contare asked.

  “Serafina said we should open the gates. I agree.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Vengeance doesn’t work. Let them go.”

  Malaya burst out laughing, a wicked cackle right out of a children’s bedtime tale. Contare ignored her. “Not vengeance,” he stated. “Justice. A man died beneath those blades.”

  “And what do you care if one peasant heretic is killed?” Malaya challenged him. “I heard you captured dozens of them.”

  “‘One peasant heretic’?” Natayl snarled at her. “My king was killed by these rogues!”

  “I captured no one,” Contare said flatly as soon as Natayl finished.

  “Of course not.” Malaya’s voice now dripped with sarcasm. “Forgive me for repeating an unreliable rumor. You’d never leave anyone in the dark to starve.”

  Tabitha was not exactly sure what Malaya’s accusation meant. The old woman sometimes went out of her way to be confusing. But months ago, Graegor had said that Contare would stop heresy from spreading in Telgardia, even though that was not something the sorcerers were supposed to be free to do. Natayl was certainly not doing it in Thendalia. It suited him to let Queen Perisca and the Jasinthes try to handle the shovel-men, and he clearly felt that Contare should stay out of the similar problems facing Telgardia.

  “The cloisters do feed long-term prisoners, Malaya,” Contare said calmly, though Tabitha could sense discomfort from Graegor. “To Lasfe’s point, though—”

  “My point was obviously lost on you,” Malaya interrupted. “One peasant heretic, and one magi king. That’s all the damage done by these rogues. Again I ask you, are you certain that this attack, that either attack, was truly aimed at us?”

  “I delved them,” Pascin finally spoke, making his irritation clear by over-emphasizing each word. The Adelard sorcerer had grey hair thinning to bald, and such a long nose and chin that his face looked like melting wax when he frowned. “They meant to kill us.”

  “The Thendal king did have enemies,” Malaya said, her high voice inflecting even higher in a maybe tone. “What better misdirection than rockets aimed at us?”

  Tabitha could almost hear Natayl rolling his eyes as he muttered, “You’re insane.”

  “Because I dare to question what you believe?” Malaya stared hard at him, but when he made no answer, she relaxed slightly into her chair. “As I said before, you are probably right. But as Pascin loves to say, belief doesn’t make truth.”

  “Belief doesn’t make fact,” Pascin corrected her through a clenched jaw. Tabitha could not see Ferogin at all, blocked as he was by the bulk of Natayl’s chair, but she had heard him say Pascin’s next words numerous times before. “Fact and truth are siblings, not aliases.”

  “The distinction between fact and truth doesn’t matter here,” Lasfe said, his mellow voice raised, “and the distinction between justice and vengeance doesn’t matter here either. Any action we take will create more dissent. More rogues.”

  “Yes!” Serafina declared, and Tabitha saw a lock of her thin white hair spring free of her headband to tangle in her ear-necklace. “To fix the problem, you must probe the soil where it roots, not just hack off branches.”

  “We should act,” Lasfe continued. “Not aggressively, but defensively. For all their ingenuity and luck, the rogue magi still failed. They will never come that close again, especially with a higher degree of watchfulness on our part, and with a few safeguards in place.”

  “Such as not having all eighteen of us in the same room at the same time?” Natayl suggested sarcastically. He had not wanted Tabitha, or any of the apprentices, to be here today.

  “Be careful,” Malaya whispered loudly. “The Diamond might fall.”

  Lasfe ignored her. “Watchfulness, not paranoia,” he answered Natayl. “The rogues exploited our willingness to walk into situations no ordinary person would consider safe. Serafina, before yesterday, would you really have considered a fox-den to be any danger to Ilene? I suspect not. I suspect that given the same circumstances, you’d have acted as Contare did.”

  “I might have gone in myself,” Serafina allowed, “but I wouldn’t have let her go.”

  “And that would have been prudent,” Contare said. “I admit my mistake. But these rogue magi have shown themselves to be very creative in their attempts to get around our defenses.”

  “Then we need to be equally creative in anticipating them,” Lasfe said.

  “No, we need to find them,” Natayl muttered. Tabitha could hear his fist drumming against the ancient wooden arm of his chair.

  “What is a rogue?” Oran asked suddenly.

  After a moment of silence in the Hall, Contare asked, “Are you asking us to explain the word?”

  “What does ‘rogue’ mean to you?” Oran clarified. “We’ve been casual with the definition. We’ve used ‘rogue’ to mean magi who don’t pledge to the Circle. We’ve used it to mean magi who object to our rule. We’ve used it to mean magi who are actively trying to kill us. Which of these groups, besides the last, are within the scope of the search?”

  Contare paused a beat before saying, “Let’s start with how you would define a rogue.”

  “In this situation? The men who wielded the weapons, the people who installed the blades and bolts in the fox-den, and the maga who tricked your heretics into luring your boy and Natayl’s girl inside.”

  “To find those people,” Natayl said impatiently, “we need to follow leads on other people, such as the lessees who let their fox-dens be converted to death traps.”

  “The lessees qualify as rogues?” Oran asked.

  “Unless they’re willing to be delved to prove they’re not,” Natayl answered.

  “The Kroldons who manage the Thurei house aren’t magi,” Oran pointed out. “We can’t delve them, assuming we can even find them.”

  “We already acknowledged that they might not have had anything to do with it,” Contare said. “They aren’t the actual lessees of that house.”

  “Most of the lessees and managers of the houses with these rooms aren’t magi, so you can’t delve them either.” Oran tilted his head. “Have you spoken to them?”

  Josselin answered with some frustration. “We can’t find the Cranes, the Thureis, or the Cornels. But we have spoken to the l
essees of thirteen other houses with fox-dens. Four of them told us that they were approached by a man who offered ‘underground construction and renovation services’. We have a sketch.”

  “Would you consent to categorize him as a rogue?” Natayl asked Oran.

  “If he’s a magus,” Oran nodded, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “So non-magi can’t be rogues?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to define, Natayl,” Oran said with overdone patience. “Are we pursuing anyone who helped to commit these crimes, magi or non-magi? What kind of ‘help’ makes a person a conspirator?”

  “Your vote depends on these finer details, then?”

  Oran nodded. “Under two of the requests, my magi will be required to help find these ‘rogues’. I need to know what I would be asking my magi to do. I need to know how the city watch will be instructed to react to any resistance.”

  With that, the Hall fell silent. It remained so, and after a few seconds, Tabitha flicked her gaze around the Table. All the other sorcerers, older and younger, appeared to be sunk deeply in their own thoughts. She sent a call to Graegor. “Is something happening?”

  It took a moment for him to answer her, which meant he had been speaking to someone else. “Contare just asked me how many of my friends at the Academy could be trusted to help.”

  “Why?”

  “In case the other sorcerers won’t agree to lend us their magi.”

  “I see.” Probably all the other sorcerers felt they had similar things to discuss with their apprentices right now, prompted by Oran’s questions. All except Natayl, since his apprentice was useless.

  Graegor sensed her frustration, and shared it. “He needs to start trusting you.”

  She had not told him that Natayl had struck her. She did not want him to know how she had cowered. “I fear that will never happen.”

  After a pause, Graegor sent, “I’m sorry.” It was what he always said when he did not know what to say. It had taken her a long time to realize that his constant apologies were seldom actual apologies.