He had to warn her.
Dominic racked his brain, but before he could come up with a solution, the door to his prison opened. Henri appeared, bearing a tray on a stand that contained a lamp, a folded neckcloth, shaving gear, a bowl of something that smelled delicious, and a mug. He set them down and bowed.
“His lordship’s compliments, and he requests the favor of your company when you are ready,” Henri said, glancing at him quickly and then looking down.
“Who is this lordship?” Dominic asked. Henri jerked, his face working and eyes wide. His mouth was open as if he would speak, but not a sound came out. It looked frighteningly familiar.
“No, please...never mind. Don’t try to answer. I know you cannot.”
Henri drew a shuddering gasp of air, eyes closing for a moment. “Thank you, sir.” He looked at Dominic directly for the first time, and his earlier hostility seemed to have diminished. “I regret that it is not possible to offer you any other fresh linen, but his lordship will not permit your bonds to be removed for any reason.” He seemed ashamed.
His bonds. The shackles. Dominic lifted one hand and raised his eyebrows. The shackles were quite thick, but they were not entirely metal. He looked more closely. Each one was lined in silvery chryselectrum.
Dominic picked up the bowl of food and started to eat, both from hunger and from a desire to hide the startled reaction on his face. Iron, chryselectrum—and his prison was entirely iron as well. It would only make sense if he were a magician.
A chill thought went through him. Magic was affected by iron; he remembered Ardhuin mentioning this to him. He, and the emerald stickpin, were completely encased in iron. She would probably be unable to find him.
Well, he had been summoned to meet this mysterious lordship. Presumably there would be less iron about then. He could not be sure, however, that the conversation would last long enough for her magic to locate him. He would have to arrange for the pin to stay outside, unless he decided it was a trap.
The bowl was full of minced chicken in broth, well-seasoned. The mug held porter. Food for an invalid, not a prisoner.
“Do you wish me to shave you, sir?” Henri asked. Dominic shook his head. Even if he still felt a little weak, he could not be sure of the full nature of the geas on Henri.
It was awkward shaving in chains, but he felt much better cleaned up. He left the stickpin out when rearranging the fresh neckcloth, and tucked it in his pocket when Henri was busy removing the tray.
“Shall I tell his lordship you are ready?” Henri asked hesitantly.
“I am quite eager to speak with him,” Dominic said.
“They found Giessen. Dead.”
Ardhuin looked up at Gutrune, the words barely penetrating the fog of pain, wondering why this was important. Then she remembered. Giessen, the defensive magician who should have been guarding Dominic that night.
“Nothing else?”
Gutrune shook her head. “He was found in a dustman’s cart. From what they were able to discover from the dustman and the condition of the body, he was killed before the attack on the Closure.”
It was a small piece of good news, made large from the absence of any other. The substitution had been made in advance, not in revenge. However, it did not absolve her of the ultimate guilt of putting Dominic in danger in the first place.
“Still no messages,” Ardhuin said, her voice rough with disuse. “Not in two days time. It would appear they do not intend to use him as a hostage.” Her stomach tightened. “What other purpose could they have?” And did that purpose require him to still be alive?
She’d stayed in the palace too long. At first from shock, and then at the urging of the King and Council, for her safety. Staying here wasn’t finding Dominic, though. She’d tried.
“May I use your carriage?” Ardhuin asked, getting stiffly to her feet. “Perhaps if I conduct the search outside the city—”
Gutrune stood and held up both hands, stopping her. “That would not be wise. What if they did this to lure you out?”
“It is not wise to wait and wait.” Ardhuin snapped. “I have to do something!”
“It is always best to fight on ground of your own choosing—not the enemy’s,” Gutrune replied, still calm. “If you rush out without any information, you will be at a great disadvantage.”
Ardhuin fought to keep her temper, or at least not to burst into tears. “But there is no information. I must go to find it,” she said, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “There is no time....”
They might already be too late. That was the horrible thought that kept her from sleeping at night, that made her want to lash and tear.
Hands gripped her shoulders, squeezed in a comforting way. “I know he is dear to you,” Gutrune said in a voice so soft Ardhuin could barely make out the words.
He is my world. Tears brimmed and fell down her cheeks. “He only came here because of me. This is all my fault.”
Gutrune gave her a quick shake. “Nonsense. From my observation, Herr Kermarec is well able to speak his own mind and make his own decisions. He knew there would be danger here before he came, did he not? You cannot afford any mistakes now. You may be his only hope.”
“But we don’t know anything!” wailed Ardhuin. “What are we doing to help him?”
Gutrune gave a small smile. “We know he was here in the palace when he was taken, and it was night. Soldiers are enforcing the curfew, and there is a tight perimeter around the palace itself. Each of the bridges has a full guard. It is possible that this kidnapper was able to gain entry in the confusion of our return from the Closure, but it would have been very difficult to escape unseen. The King has ordered a search of the area,” she said. “Have hope, and be patient. If he is in the perimeter, we will find him.”
Not long after Henri had left his cell, two rough-looking men came in. Like Henri, they had geasi and were silent. One pointed a pistol at Dominic while the other unfastened the long chain from his manacles. The two manacles were still chained to each other, but not closely.
Outside the iron cell was a narrow passageway paved with rough flagstones. They passed another door, similar to his but ajar, and then the passage opened to a wider area, more reminiscent of the cellar of a large house. This cellar, however, did not have barrels and rough stores like coal. Instead, it was swept bare to accommodate a table and a bench with a rack of glass chemical apparatus.
His guides jerked him forward, but not before he saw the restraints on the four corners of the table. There was a raw, sour smell he associated with medical examining rooms, as well. He was very glad to leave.
When he finally arrived at the living area, his legs shook with fatigue and it was an effort to stand upright. Far too many stairs had been employed, in his opinion.
It looked like it had been a rich house once, with marble tile floors and marble columns in the entryway. The floor was covered in undisturbed dust that had a hint of magic to it. Dominic glanced back the way they had come and saw the marks of their feet slowly being erased. Someone wanted this house to look unused.
There were other signs of careful deception as they continued. Heavy curtains over old tattered ones, thick enough to block any stray light yet deliberately stained and ripped to match. A grand staircase that appeared to be completely unsafe, a few nails keeping it from collapsing entirely, but Dominic noticed discreet metal brackets and illusion that made it appear some of the treads were missing.
He was nudged up the “falling” staircase. Beyond was an area more clearly lived in, the carpet clean and fresh. His escort stopped in a large parlor that had an attached glass-framed conservatory to one side, the panes opaque with grime. The thug with the pistol pointed it at him again while the other left the room.
As he waited, Dominic became aware of motion in the conservatory. Henri was there, busy about some task. It seemed a pleasant place, green plants and statuary scattered throughout.
“Ah, there you are. How kind of you to come
.”
Dominic turned sharply, then winced at the sudden wave of dizziness. A man stood in the double doorway of a connecting room. He had a taut, lean look that could have placed his age anywhere between forty and sixty. Tall and loose-limbed, he was dressed in a slightly old-fashioned suit. As he came closer, Dominic saw a scattering of small scars along one side of his thin face.
The man made a slight dismissive gesture, and the two thugs left silently.
“I was not aware I had any choice in the matter,” Dominic replied, wondering at the man’s air of casual courtesy and unconscious command. It was not arrogance, which would have included some recognition of others, even if that recognition was pure contempt.
“There is a certain regrettable degree of constraint, it is true,” the man said, nodding. “I beg you regard it as a compliment. I have taken my own measures, which should render you powerless for the moment, but I have no notion of how quickly you can recover. Thus—” He indicated the manacles and gave a wry smile. “But you should not be standing like this, so soon after the procedure. Please come in, and be seated. Henri! Bring refreshment.”
Henri froze in the act of arranging a tendril of ivy about a statue of an undraped woman making a gesture of surprise. Dominic could see him trying to fight the compulsion, even as he turned to go.
Two observations jostled in Dominic’s mind as he followed his captor into an exotically furnished office. The statue was not of a graceful, perfect nymph, but an ordinary woman—and the statue was full of magic, of a kind he had never seen before.
Dominic sank down gratefully on a large, soft ottoman, richly upholstered in gold-laced brocade. “I do not have the honor of your name,” he said cautiously.
The man laughed. “You know, I have almost forgotten it myself. In any event I have not used it since the war, and that young man no longer exists. Dead, if you believe the records. I have taken the mage-name Denais. And what name has Oron’s heir taken?”
For a brief moment there was utter confusion, and then Dominic found it hard to breathe. Denais was looking at him with interest, waiting.
He had to think, to focus. Of course Denais thought he, Dominic, was the Mage Guardian. He'd put him in an iron cell, after all. To protect Ardhuin, Dominic would have to pretend he was. Fortunately, Denais would not expect him to be able to do any magic in his current condition. Now, how would the heir of Oron reply?
“I have not yet decided,” he said, hoping he sounded careless and casual. “Besides, it amuses me to have them refer to me, as you did, as the heir of Oron. It reminds them of things they would rather forget.”
It then occurred to Dominic that perhaps Denais, apparently a Gaulan mage, would also rather forget Oron, but no change of expression was apparent in Denais’ face.
Time for some questions of his own. “How did you escape the impoundment at the end of the War?” Dominic asked. Denais did not have a geas now, if he had ever had one.
“Ah.” Denais took a seat in a deep leather chair. “Well, I was fortunate enough to be so badly wounded I was left for dead, and a truly dead man was mistaken for me—with, I admit, some assistance on my part. I looked even younger than I was at the time, so no one who saw me thought I could possibly be a mage’s assistant. I left Aerope as soon as I could travel, which was also of great use in remaining at liberty.”
Henri entered, carrying a heavy tray, and proceeded to lay out tea and pastries. After pouring, he left as silently as he had come, closing the big double doors behind him.
The exotic tea matched the room, rich and heavy. Dominic sipped carefully, trying to keep his cup from rattling against the saucer, or his chains from touching any of the delicate china.
“You mentioned a procedure. Is it connected to this?” he asked, raising the arm with the bandage.
Denais leaned back and regarded Dominic over the edge of his teacup. “Of course. For many years I had nothing to do but research. My remote location was awkward, but it had other advantages. In Anatoli, life is cheap. I discovered from my own experience and some half-remembered tales that a magician’s strength—his power, if you will—is carried in his blood.”
“You bled me to make me weak?” Dominic asked, surprised.
Denais gave a mocking smile. “That is a useful side-effect, but no. I learned after many years of effort how to remove the power from a magician’s blood—and to use that power myself.”
“The bodies left by the Closure. That was your doing,” Dominic said slowly. All magicians of one kind or another, all drained of blood.
“I do try not to be wasteful,” Denais said, nodding and taking a chocolate-dipped madeleine from the tray. “I needed the essence, of course, and there is always the problem of disposal. Creating fear and unrest was also useful to me.”
“Are you trying to start another war?” Dominic asked, feeling very cold. “Was the first not horrible enough?”
“I am finishing one,” Denais snapped, his eyes narrowing. “I did not surrender. Have you seen what the Alliance did to Gaul? Even now, thirty years later, it is broken and humiliated! We who were the pinnacle of Aerope reduced to cringing servitude, forced every day to apologize for daring to dream of glory!”
That this glory had consisted of conquering and humiliating the other countries of Aerope seemed to escape Denais.
“So you assassinated the...the other Mage Guardians. How long have you been working on this?”
Denais smiled, his earlier ill humor vanishing. “Long enough, and you have caused me significant delay. How fortunate you have provided me with means to make up the deficiency. Magicians of your level are not common.” He leaned forward. “You are still somewhat pale. We must not risk your health, even though I have enjoyed this conversation and indeed, hope to have more. As long as I feel confident that you are under control, who knows how long our acquaintance will last?” Denais gave him another mocking smile, and rose. “Come. The laboratory will interest you.”
Dominic followed him outside. There was just enough time for him to glance at the conservatory. Henri was there again, still attending the magical statue, trying to arrange the ivy to conceal more of the undraped woman, whose expression now seemed frightened rather than surprised. He caught a glimpse of gold on one of the statue’s hands before the conservatory was out of view.
It was easier going down stairs, but still tiring. Dominic was beginning to stumble by the time they reached the cellar.
Denais went over to the table and apparatus and motioned Dominic to join him.
“You see, I have designed a most efficient method. The source is connected here, and the essence is collected in a stasis vial. Unfortunately, even that does not permit long-term storage, since the nature of the essence affects the stasis spell.”
“Of course.” Dominic looked at him in fascinated horror. That table where the “source”—a human being—was fastened and drained of blood, was just another piece of equipment to Denais. If what Denais had said was true, Dominic had himself been tied down there and bled for power.
“It is a nuisance, but the essence cannot be contained more than two weeks without losing its effectiveness,” Denais commented, unlocking a carved wooden cabinet with a bright flash of magic. On a shelf were a physician’s hypodermic, a length of cord, and some sticking plaster and bandages. Above the shelf, in velvet-lined niches, were five bottles labeled with a name and a date on each. They contained a clear liquid that glowed to Dominic’s vision. That must be the essence, then. One of the five bottles was only partly filled, and the fluid did not glow. The name on the bottle was his.
“I could not obtain a full measure of essence without killing you,” Denais said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “With luck, I can repeat the procedure several times. And your essence is, of course, much stronger than any of the others, so less is needed.”
Dominic thought furiously as the rough servants were summoned to return him to his cell. He had at most two weeks before Denais discovered the essenc
e derived from his blood was worthless, and when he did, both he and Ardhuin would be in danger. If Denais considered his essence more powerful, he would probably save it for a special occasion, or only use it if he had no other.
As Dominic got closer to the door of his cell, he desperately tried to think of some way to get the emerald rose stickpin out of his pocket and hidden unobtrusively, but the thugs were too watchful. There had been no opportunity upstairs, either. He would have to think of something else.
Ardhuin pushed up the stray strands of hair that had escaped and stared at the document again. Gutrune von Kitren had been translating it for her, but she wanted to look at it herself. Markus Asgaya lounged in a chair nearby, outwardly relaxed, but with shadows under his eyes showing the long hours he had been at work.
“So, we still don’t know who this mysterious individual ‘K’ is, other than that he is powerful and telling von Stangen what to do.”
Markus stirred. “Not exactly. It appears K and von Stangen were allies, but sometimes reluctant ones. K wanted to use some of the army in the Closure attack but von Stangen refused.”
“What does von Stangen say about that?” Ardhuin asked.
Gutrune shook her head. “He is refusing to answer questions. Despite these documents, he maintains that even to respond to the accusations is a stain on his honor, that he has never endangered the safety of the King or of Preusa. It is true, we have no proof but what we found in his quarters, and that is murky at best.”
“I heard something interesting about von Stangen,” Markus said, sitting up with a stifled groan. “He was with the detachment that worked with the impounding process at the end of the war. He met most of the Gaulan mages and knew about their magic. Something of an expert on it, in fact.”
“He was also an adherent of Marderian,” Gutrune said. “A political leader who objected to the present King’s views on empire,” she explained, seeing Ardhuin’s puzzled look. “Marderian firmly believed in the purpose of Preusa being conquest.”
The Last Mage Guardian Page 29