Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “You have been forbidden to talk. I understand.” Henri nodded. “Is she…is she perhaps your wife?” The woman appeared the right age, and Dominic remembered the gold ring. While Henri could not speak, the tears sliding down his cheeks were confirmation enough. “I’m sorry. I would help you if I could.”

  Behind Henri in the open doorway, a large orange-and-white cat wandered by. Seeing the newly opened door, it stopped to investigate. Giving Henri a casual lean as it walked by, it sniffed Dominic and looked at him expectantly.

  Dominic took a scrap of chicken from his plate and offered it to the cat, who took it with delicate grace.

  The beginnings of an idea started to form in his mind. He gave the cat another small bit of food, and it started to purr. Asking Henri for more water, he quickly hid a handful of chicken from his plate while the man’s head was turned.

  The meal over, Henri shooed the cat out of the cell and closed the door. Dominic waited until the sound of footsteps faded down the passageway, and then carefully shoved a scrap of food under the door. A small tug told him it had been taken away.

  Working quickly, Dominic took out his handkerchief and the emerald rose stickpin and made a small bundle of them, rubbing the bundle vigorously on the floor of his cell to disguise the whiteness. Using a thread pulled from his blanket, he wrapped the bundle further with the remainder of the food he had hidden away.

  Carefully, he nudged the bundle under the door. He felt nothing, and had a momentary spurt of panic. Had the cat eaten its fill? But then a tug came — a firm, determined one — and he let go. He could no longer feel it anywhere.

  He had to hope it was out in the passageway now, and that it would remain unnoticed. It had to work. It was his only chance.

  15

  The summons was always the same. The creak of his prison door, the blinding line of light, and Henri’s soft, polite voice extending the invitation from Denais. After the initial visit, Dominic had been summoned twice. Each visit was nerve-wracking, especially after Dominic discovered his captor had some level of inside knowledge. It was not complete, however, and Dominic struggled to keep his expression from revealing anything.

  He hoped he hadn’t revealed anything. It was hard to tell. Denais had a light, casual manner, but Dominic was not fooled. There had been some awkward moments at dinner. It had gone on forever, but he could at least pretend to be busy with his food while he tried to invent an answer. When Denais mentioned that “someone” had told him the Mage Guardian was a woman, his fork dropped from his grasp and he made a great show of being impeded by the manacles while he tried to gather his frightened thoughts.

  “Did they really say that? How amusing.” He took a deep breath and gestured for Henri to fill his wineglass again. Carefully holding the chain back with one hand, he picked it up and sipped cautiously. “Perhaps you have heard that illusion is a specialty of mine. It is a pity I cannot give you a demonstration,” he added, in the absent, careless way he had affected.

  The lines about Denais’ eyes deepened in amused appreciation, and he raised his glass. “It is indeed a pity. But why? There is also talk that the young lady is some relation to the late Oron, but I find it hard to believe she could be involved in these matters. Yet, there she is.”

  Dominic shrugged, his heart beating so hard he felt dizzy. “Oron taught her to be his assistant. I find her useful as well. Besides, I do not care to be surrounded by strangers. I have switched our appearances now and then, especially if there was a boring meeting I was required to attend.”

  Denais laughed and relaxed back in his chair. From his reaction, Dominic judged the immediate danger over.

  “I understand completely. Why else do you think I am so eager for your reluctant company? For safety, I keep myself apart as much as possible from my associates, and even if that were not the case, their abilities are not remotely comparable to mine.” He made a contemptuous brushing motion. “I have little interest in their conversation. It is enough if they serve me well.”

  And those like Henri, only there because he was under a geas, would be understandably prone to silence if not compelled to talk. Dominic wondered about that afterward, as he was being escorted to his cell by the rough, criminal-looking servants. Why hadn’t Denais put a geas on him? It added another level of fear to his thoughts. He could do nothing to prevent it. Given that the Gaulan mage used them so casually, there must be a reason he had not.

  It had been nearly a day since he had gotten the stickpin out of his cell. He looked as carefully as he could in the flickering lamplight of the corridor when he returned, but he didn’t see it anywhere. Had the cat taken it somewhere else that was shielded? Where was Ardhuin?

  The next morning, Henri brought the shaving gear again, saying as he poured out the hot water, “His lordship wishes to enquire if there is anything he might do to make your…confinement more comfortable.”

  Dominic froze, his face half-lathered, thinking furiously. Henri was probably a friend, but was also probably under a compulsion to repeat everything said to him. “It would be a relief to be free of these wretched manacles, but I doubt his concern for me would extend so far.” Henri said nothing, but tears welled up at the corner of his eyes. Dominic looked at the manacles, suddenly caught by the close-worked combination of chryselectrum and metal. A dimly remembered article from The Family Museum stirred an idea. “But beside that, my great annoyance is boredom. Something to read, to take my mind off my troubles—but perhaps he would not permit a lamp, either.”

  “I will enquire, sir,” Henri said with resolute dignity.

  It was still quite dark and bitterly cold outside as Ardhuin went out to the courtyard and the waiting coach. It had no insignia, but the mounted military escort would remove any doubt about it being an ordinary carriage.

  “A fine morning for hunting, ladies,” Markus Asgaya said cheerfully, assisting Ardhuin and Gutrune into the coach before mounting his own horse.

  Ardhuin barely refrained from snapping at him. Mornings were never her best time, and she had hardly slept at all last night. “Is he always like that?” she grumbled.

  Gutrune smiled. “I am afraid so. He is relieved to be taking action again. He did not like waiting any more than you did.”

  He had certainly hidden it better, which was probably what Gutrune was hinting at. Feeling rebuked, Ardhuin stared out the window. She could just make out the black outline of the rooftops against the slightly lighter blackness of the sky.

  “How long will it take to get there?” she asked, wincing inwardly when she heard herself sounding even more like a child.

  “Tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds. If it were not so remote we could travel all night.”

  There were rail lines, but none where they needed to go.

  What would she do if they found no sign of Dominic on von Stangen’s estates? It would take another day and a half of travel to return, still knowing nothing. He could be dead, and she wouldn’t know.

  The dark, ice-covered arch of the bridge came into view, and as the coach crossed the broad river, Ardhuin cast the finding spell one last time.

  There.

  Ardhuin gasped, sitting bolt upright. Gutrune reached for her. “What is wrong?”

  “I found him. The location device I mentioned…over there!” Ardhuin pointed across the river, along the bank. “It’s so close! Why couldn’t I find it before?”

  Gutrune gave her a serious look. “Perhaps it wasn’t there before. Or it is a trick. Can they be faked?”

  “This? No! It is grown. Even I couldn’t make one from scratch.” Ardhuin gritted her teeth. “And even if it is a trap, they must have gotten it from Dominic—and will know where he is. Tell them to turn the coach.”

  “They will not permit it. We cannot risk you like that.” Gutrune’s eyes were wide, and went even wider as Ardhuin reached for the door handle.

  She’d wasted too much time already, and Dominic was in danger.

  “What are you doi
ng? You’ll be killed!”

  Ardhuin shook her head sharply. “No I won’t. Have you forgotten what I am?” She gathered power around her, preparing to levitate as soon as she was outside the coach, and turned the handle.

  “Wait!” Gutrune yanked hard on the check cord. The coach slowed but did not stop.

  “Was ist los herein?” yelled a voice from the coachman’s seat.

  Gutrune pulled down the window and called back something clipped in Preusan. Ardhuin had no problem understanding the reply. No.

  “Ladies? What’s amiss?” Markus rode closer to the coach.

  “I found him!” Ardhuin called. Markus’ horse broke into a gallop until it was reined back. Markus stared at her.

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes!” She almost screamed. “They won’t turn around! He’s over there.” Ardhuin pointed. “Make them stop!”

  If he hesitated, it was only for a moment. He spurred up to argue with the commander of the escort.

  “He’s taking too long,” grumbled Ardhuin. “We’re almost out of the city.”

  Gutrune bit her lip. “Have patience. Oh, here he comes.”

  They were still moving, and the expression on Markus’ face was not encouraging. Ardhuin yanked the door open, clutching the side and trying to pick a good place to jump. She’d have to get away from the rest of the escort, too, and travel back a good distance. Maybe she could steal one of the trooper’s horses?

  A rush of horse, and black uniform, and a familiar voice swearing in Preusan at her.

  “No! Gott, please, what do you want? What do you want me to do?” Markus tried to push her back into the coach one-handed, a look of horror on his face.

  Or she could just steal the coach.

  “Can you get on the box?” she yelled, pointing. He nodded, uncomprehending, and she leaned out again, clutching the doorjamb, and cast vital stasis on the coachman. “Do it now!”

  She had a brief glimpse of him snatching at the rail on the side and swinging off his horse as she stumbled back inside and scrabbled at the window fastenings on the other side. There was an armed guard seated beside the coachman, who was just realizing something was wrong. She cast vital stasis on him too.

  Ardhuin frowned. “Any guards on the back?” she asked.

  Raising an eyebrow, Gutrune remarked, “Fortunately for them, no. I can see you are in a ruthless mood.” She appeared calm again, if breathing a little quickly. “The escort will have noticed what just happened, and will at the very least investigate,” she added, as if she were commenting on the weather.

  “Oh.” Ardhuin leaned out the door again. Sure enough, the troopers behind them were speeding to catch up to the coach, and shouting. It wouldn’t be long before the ones in front figured it out as well. “Turn back!” she yelled to Markus, who was awkwardly trying to steer the coach using the reins still frozen in the coachman’s hands.

  “I expect you to attend it, you know,” he shouted back.

  “Attend what?”

  “Funeral, execution,” he yelled, and grinned. “Both!”

  Ardhuin shook her head and cast a cloud of deep shadow about the oncoming troopers. More Preusan profanity, and terrified neighing from the horses. “Take that street, before they notice!”

  One wheel hit the curb as Markus took the sharp turn, tilting the coach for a dangerous moment. Ardhuin glanced inside. Gutrune was holding onto a strap, looking mildly concerned.

  The cloud had only given them a brief respite. The troopers ahead, even in the dark, would have been able to see which way the coach had gone, so it was only a matter of time before they were found again. Realistically, Ardhuin was glad. She had no idea what they would find, and armed soldiers would be welcome, even if they were annoyed with her.

  They had to slow their speed more than she liked in the twisting streets, which were not in very good repair. Ardhuin pointed directions, but she only had a sense of where the stickpin was—not which streets to take to get there.

  “Stop here,” she called.

  Markus glanced about. The river was close by, and there were many old, dingy warehouses. “Here?” he asked, looking dubious.

  “No, but we’re very close. I don’t want to attract attention.” She stepped down from the coach, followed by Gutrune.

  “I am afraid a coach such as this has already attracted attention,” Gutrune remarked, looking at its glossy black sides.

  “So we send it away,” Markus said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

  Gutrune regarded him for a moment, expressionless. “You are enjoying this.”

  He nodded, cheerfulness undiminished. “A grand adventure, with exquisite company, and in a good cause. I will be very surprised if we don’t get a splendid fight in as well.”

  I hope we win. Ardhuin determinedly ignored the conversation and sent out the detection spell again. More focused, less powerful. She blinked. She almost felt as if she could reach out and touch it! She looked about, frowning. It felt down.

  “I think he’s in a cellar. Somewhere below ground level,” she said slowly. “This way.”

  On the river side, in a gap between the warehouses, was an ancient, crumbling mansion. In the pale light of dawn she could see that dead yellow grass filled the front yard almost shoulder-high, hidden behind a rusting, partially collapsed wrought-iron fence. Slates had fallen off the roof in patches, one balcony had completely given way and was lying on the ground, and the windows were coated in grey grime.

  Markus whistled softly. “It’s immense! What on earth is it doing here? It must be over a hundred years old.”

  “Approximately two hundred and twenty-five,” Gutrune said, just loud enough to hear. She joined them, huddling behind a watchman’s shed for concealment. “At that time it was forbidden for any but nobility to build such a large house within the old walls of Baerlen. This area became fashionable among the wealthy commoners.”

  “I don’t want to sound critical, but this house looks quite thoroughly abandoned,” Markus said. “In fact, at the point of falling down.”

  If only Dominic were there, he could see what they were missing. Ardhuin looked more closely, then snorted. She’d lived in Peran by herself, almost abandoned, and yet she’d had plenty of company. Animal company. “I don’t see any squirrel or bird nests, or tracks in the grass. By the river would be prime hunting area for mice and rats. If that’s real, there’s magic keeping the animals out.”

  Still, it was doubtful anyone went in the front door. Too open and easily observed.

  “But how could Herr Kermarec be here? It’s on the other side of the river, and all the bridges from the palace were blocked by the curfew.”

  Ardhuin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s here now. This place is going to have considerable magical defenses, and I don’t have time to find them all myself. Do you think if we free the coachman, he could go get more magicians?”

  Henri brought a small oil lamp and a selection of books with Dominic’s breakfast. The lamp was metal, and the usual glass chimney was missing.

  “I am to remove it after your midday meal,” Henri said, looking apologetic. “Are the books sufficient, or shall I attempt to find others? I am afraid the library is not extensive.”

  One volume was a tattered collection of classical poetry, another a treatise on migratory sea birds, and the rest parts two and three of a gothic romance.

  “I believe these will be satisfactory,” Dominic said, wondering if the library were truly that limited or if Denais was having a joke. It was just as well he had no intention of actually reading them.

  He pretended to do so at first in case Henri had been ordered to check, loudly rustling the pages when he turned them. He continued to appear fascinated by the hand-colored illustrations of the Gervy’s blue-footed tern even after the cell door was closed, but when he heard Henri’s footsteps fade, he sat up and quickly got to work.

  If he was lucky, he had less than three hours to escape. He took down the oil lamp from
the shelf and placed it carefully on the floor. His chains clinked, so he ripped a strip from his blanket and wrapped it around them.

  The concept was quite simple, really. Chryselectrum was a form of glass and therefore brittle. The chryselectrum in the shackles was protected by the outer shell of iron, but metal, when heated, expanded more than glass. The article he had read detailed the clever means devised to work around this difficulty, but he was going to make use of it. That is, if he could only ignore that the metal and glass were firmly attached to his wrists.

  He held one manacle directly in the lamp’s flame, but not so close as to put it out. This was his only chance. Dominic started to feel an uncomfortable warmth on his skin. What if Henri came back early? He’d have to prevent him from alerting Denais. The heat grew painful, then excruciating, and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

  A tiny tink came from the manacle, then another. Wincing at the pain, he quickly took it away from the flame and, covering his arm with the blanket, brought the manacle quick and hard down on the edge of his iron bedframe.

  Holding his breath, he listened for any sound in the corridor. There was none. The pain in his wrist had a sharp new component now, and when he took his arm out from under the blanket there was a thin line of red trickling down his hand. The chryselectrum had cracked, but was still either attached to the iron or too large to remove from the manacle. He would have to do it again.

  It hurt even more than the first time. Tears of pain ran down his face as he forced himself to hold his wrist over the lamp. More crackling noises, several in a row, and finally he could bear it no longer. He smashed the manacle against the bedframe, gasping at the staggering wave of pain that made him dizzy.

  The shards of chryselectrum that came out were bloody, but they did come out. He checked his watch. Over an hour from the time Henri had left him, and he still hadn’t even gotten out of his chains. Dominic tugged fiercely, despite the stabbing sensation this caused, and slowly pulled his hand free. A long, deep cut ran along his thumb, dripping blood.