“I suggest that you pick up your friend before his new form attracts a cat,” Eleanor said, coolly. She wasn't sure if she could do that again, but as long as they were terrified of her, they shouldn’t push her too far. “We were summoned by the Duke to join his army of magic-users, not to serve as camp whores. Did you have any idea who you thought you were touching?”
They shook their heads, terrified. Unlike most women, particularly civilian women, sorceresses were perfectly capable of defending themselves. Quite a few would-be rapists had ended up croaking on a lily pad...and that was only when the sorceress was feeling merciful. And she’d told them that she’d been summoned by Herod personally. She could make no end of trouble for them and they knew it. A common soldier could be replaced. A sorceress was far more important.
“Good,” Eleanor said. “Now...take your friend and run.”
She watched as they ran, not daring to look back at her. They’d been completely unmanned by the experience. She wondered if they would ever dare to try and have fun – some fun, part of her mind whispered angrily – with a woman again. Or perhaps they’d just find a whore to beat up and pretend that they were hurting her.
“Good work,” a voice said, from behind her. Sir Pellaeon stepped out of the shadows and nodded to her. “I was expecting that I would have to step in and deal with them.”
Eleanor looked up at him. “Won’t they tell Herod what happened to them?”
“I doubt it,” Sir Pellaeon said. “Would you want to tell an evil magician that you tried to rape one of the most important people in his army?”
He shook his head before Eleanor could say anything else. “I got us a set of chargers,” he said, with a grin that made Eleanor blink in astonishment. He looked years younger when he smiled. “We have to get moving fast.”
“Chargers?” Eleanor repeated. “Where did you get them from?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” Sir Pellaeon said. He winked at her. “Perhaps I’ll tell you later. We still need to get moving though. I heard enough people chatting to know that the army is going to be moving out in a few days – perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Herod intends to squash the only threat remaining to his rule.”
His voice tightened. “They’re off to invade Larkrise,” he said. “And if we don’t get there first to warn them, they’re going to be completely unprepared for the invasion.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Herod felt the burst of magic through his connection to the wards, a sudden uncontrolled blast that sent shockwaves through his wards, alerting him to trouble. He couldn't track every piece of magic done within the Golden Palace – there were too many sorcerers within the Golden Palace to track them all, even if he could be bothered – but an uncontrolled blast was dangerous. He pulled his own personal wards around him and headed out of his quarters, realising with a sense of dull amusement that the blast had come from the Princess’s rooms. Perhaps she had decided to try to fight the sorceresses after all, panicked and released all of her magic in one uncontrolled burst. The thought made him smile as he walked up the stairs, barely aware of the slaves prostrating themselves in front of him as he passed; if the Princess had so much magic in her, their children would be truly blessed.
He turned the corner and realised that something had gone badly wrong. A woman wearing the rich garments of a sorceress was standing in front of where the wards had been, utterly immobile. Herod reached out with his magic and swore under his breath; the unfocused burst of magic hadn’t killed her, but it had destroyed her ability to move, perhaps even to speak. Her staring eyes begged him for help, or perhaps pleading for mercy; her own powers seemed to have deserted her. Herod ignored her for the moment and kept moving forward. The other sorceress had been literally disassembled by the burst of magic, left as nothing more than a pile of dust on the floor. No half-trained magician from the Academy could have done that.
Herod tested the wards around the Princess’s room and realised that the blast of magic had disabled them, transforming them from a prison into a trap for anyone unwary enough to step inside. The Princess had somehow got her hands on a storage gem and keyed it into the wards – not a hard task for an enchanter, but impressive for a young girl – and, when the sorceresses had tried to step through the wards, they’d been struck by raw magic and transformed randomly. The enchanter who had created the gem would have been outraged at the waste of power such an attack represented, but Herod was rather amused. Who would have expected such an attack when they’d known that the room was secure?
“Princess,” he called, as he dismantled the wards and entered the apartment. He pushed irritation into his voice, even though he found it hard not to laugh. Once the word got out, the two sorceresses would be the laughing stock of his camp. Imagine not bothering to secure their own wards before they entered the Princess’s room. “Princess, this is futile.”
There was no sign of the Princess. There was enough raw magic still humming in the air to make using his third eye tricky, but as he drew it into his wards, he began to realise that the Princess – and the Oracle – wasn’t hiding under the bed or in one of the massive wardrobes, so large that a commoner family could have used them for a home. Herod felt his smile vanish as he checked from room to room, disintegrating possible hiding places and finding nothing. There was a shape under the Princess’s covers, on her bed, and he pulled the blankets back, only to discover a set of pillows that had been artfully arranged to appear like a body. The Princess was no longer in the room.
He stepped back and concentrated, reaching out to the wards surrounding the castle and inspecting them, before turning his gaze inward. He’d used his far-sight to sweep the Golden Palace before he’d set up the replacement wards, yet now – with so many wards protecting his secrets – it was harder to scan for anyone within the building. The Princess was a magic-user who should have been easy to sense, yet he sensed nothing. Either she had somehow figured out a way of hiding from him, even in a building infested by his magic, or she had somehow managed to escape the Golden Palace entirely. He scowled as he kept scanning; necromancy, for all the power it offered, was little help when it came to the small precise requirements. The Princess could be hiding anyway.
I shouldn't have dismantled the wards, Herod thought, as he reluctantly concluded that the Princess had somehow escaped the Golden Palace. If he’d left the wards surrounding the room intact, he might have been able to work out how she’d done it – and until he could do that, he couldn't leave her in another prison. The wards should have been impossible to open from the inside, yet somehow she’d managed to escape and roam the castle for a few days, stealing the storage gem and setting it up to catch the first person who visited her empty rooms. Perhaps Herod himself had been the target; indeed, if she had had the ability to dismantle or slip through wards at will, why hadn't she come after him to avenge her father?
He stepped back outside and looked down at the immobile sorceress. She had no reason to expect mercy from him, not after she had lost him his bride-to-be, but mercy quite often had a practical purpose. Herod placed his hand on her forehead – she felt unnaturally feverish – and used his third eye to scan her body for damage, his eyes widening as he realised just how badly she had been hurt. He hoped that it hadn't been deliberate. Herod had slaughtered hundreds of people to power his magic and even led a coup against his Emperor, yet even he would have balked at inflicting such suffering upon the enemy. The woman was not only paralysed, she was in terrifying pain...and the pain was making it impossible for her to heal herself or slip into a trance. Herod braced himself and called upon his magic, sweeping through her body and repairing as much of the damage as he could. The sorceress collapsed at his feet, screaming in agony. Herod kept his hand on her head, flushing out the remaining raw magic and sucking it into his wards. He needed to hold her together until she could stand up for herself.
“Thank you,” she gasped, as she finally started to pull herself to her feet.
She staggered and would have fallen if Herod hadn't caught her with his arm. She weighed almost nothing, although Herod wasn't sure if that was just because he was strong, or because the magic had been eating away at her body fat, converting it all to energy. “My Lord, I thank you...”
“Maybe not,” Herod said, darkly. She was almost completely broken, which meant that she was effectively useless. “What happened?”
He listened to her story, shaking his head in wonder – and amusement. The two sorceresses had gone to Eleanor’s rooms to fit the wedding dress on her and, when they’d stepped through the wards, they’d been stuck by the blast of magic, exactly as he had summarised. One of them had been killed outright; the other would have died without his intervention when her body finally gave out under the strain. Even now, she needed a Healer and some time to rest, not more strain.
Herod waved to a slave, who immediately prostrated himself in front of him. “Get off the ground,” Herod snapped. Whoever had designed the original control spells had been very fond of having people act submissive, but he didn’t have time for that now. “Go to Master Reginald and the General and order them to meet me in the infirmary.”
“Yes Master,” the slave said, and vanished.
Herod took the sorceress by the hand and escorted her down the corridor towards the infirmary, where several of his Healers had set up a small workplace. The First Emperor had encouraged the growth of healing magic and his successors had continued the practice, even Herod. The two Healers on duty took one look at the sorceress and insisted on putting her into a trance at once, despite her protests; Herod watched with interest as they imposed the trance on her, before placing her on one of the beds and starting to work on her body. One of the Healers was clearly uncomfortable with his presence, yet she didn't seem to have the nerve to ask him to leave. Herod watched until Master Reginald and the General arrived and then excused himself. They went down to a small room and closed the door.
“The Princess Eleanor has escaped, along with the Oracle,” Herod said flatly. There was no time for recriminations. “She is nowhere within the Golden Palace, which means that she has managed to get through the wards without being stopped.”
Reginald looked concerned, as well he might. If someone had been able to get out, someone else might be able to get in. Eleanor herself was a magician with limited training, but someone more experienced who could break through wards would be very dangerous. Their plans depended on maintaining their wards and security at the highest possible level.
“I see,” he said, finally. “How did she do it?”
Herod glared at him. “If I knew, we wouldn't be having this conversation,” he said. “I would have altered the wards to make it impossible for her to escape.”
The General held up a hand. “It doesn't matter,” he said, flatly. Herod nodded in understanding. The General always had a knack for cutting to the heart of the matter. “If she has escaped, where is she going? Where can she go?” He frowned. “Anyone going out of the Palace has to go near – if not through – the Golden City, our stronghold...”
He paused. “I wonder...Your Grace, who else might have escaped?”
Herod reached out and drew on the wards again. He hadn’t bothered to create personalised wards for anyone, but the Princess and the Oracle, yet it was easy to start looking for someone else who might be missing. Besides, it wasn't as if he had kept many prisoners in the Golden Palace. The Emperor’s former staff had all been used to power his necromancy, with a single exception...
He swore. “Sir Pellaeon is missing from his cell,” he said. He’d given permission for a handful of minor magicians to see if they could break the Knight, yet none of them had come close to succeeding. Indeed, if one of them had been so foolish as to free him, it was quite possible that Sir Pellaeon had killed the torturer and freed the Princess, before escaping through the wards. The Knights of the Golden Order had hundreds of tricks up their sleeves. “He could have gotten them through the Golden City without being detected and then...”
It was easy to follow the Knight’s logic. “They’ll go to Larkrise,” he said, flatly. He looked up at the General. “I want the army marching today. We head straight for Braidburn and then onwards to the Desert of Death. Send out scouts and recon patrols to see if they can locate the Princess and her party, but concentrate your attention on moving the army. We will go to Larkrise and put an end to the affair.”
Reginald frowned. “Your Grace,” he said. “Should we not change our plans? The Princess may know where we are sending the army.”
Herod considered it. “There is nowhere else that we can send the army,” he said. “If we take the Prince’s personal domain, we win the war before it can truly begin.”
He looked up at Reginald. “I expect you to start focusing on your magic,” he added. “I want overwhelming force by the time we encounter Prince Eric again.”
***
The sun was rising in the distance as Eleanor pushed the horse along, feeling the enhanced beast thrumming under her body. She’d always loved horse-riding, even as a very young girl and had bitterly resented being unable to ride while she’d been at the Academy. She had even considered specialising in natural magic and enhancement spells, although her father had been horrified at the prospect. Sir Pellaeon – naturally – led the way, his body almost merging with his horse, while Kuralla brought up the rear. The Oracle was far less used to horses and it showed. The enhanced horse had eyed her, grudgingly condescending to allow her to mouth him and then helped her remain on through magic.
Eleanor felt herself smiling as the sun rose higher. Perhaps Herod would send out scouts – and enchanted birds – after them, but for the moment she was free. It almost made up for the devastation surrounding her as they rode through small villages and towns that had once been vibrant and full of life. The Golden City hadn't been a bad master to the commoners in the region, allowing them a surplus of their produce to keep for themselves and even encouraging them to invest in new and better ways of farming. Now...now the larger towns were burned-out shells, while the smaller ones had been broken to the lash. She caught sight of a team of peasants working the land and shuddered. The chains around their necks were new.
There will be a reckoning, she swore to herself, as they rode onwards. The enhanced beasts could run for hundreds of miles before they grew tired and needed to rest. Even then, they could keep going, tapping into the reserves the enchanters had engineered into them, if there was need. They were some of the most intelligent animals on Touched, which did make her wonder if they could be fully trusted. How had Sir Pellaeon even gotten his hands on them?
The various Emperors had invested heavily in the centre of their Empire, creating roads that would last for centuries even without maintenance. She had expected that they would be sneaking through side-roads and hiding in the Greenwood, but Sir Pellaeon had insisted that they remained on the roads, pointing out that speed was their only hope. Besides – she reminded herself as they raced past a party of slavers leading their slaves to the Golden Palace – no one would see anything suspicious in three riders, running along as bold as brass. Or so she hoped. Would Herod know about the horses? Would he hear about the sorceress in the Golden City and put two and two together?
She saw a flock of birds rising up in the distance and lowered her eyes, wishing that they had something different to wear. They were still wearing the outfits they’d worn while they’d been held prisoner and they were recognisable, particularly if a sorcerer was looking through the eyes of a flock of birds. She remembered some spells for bringing down birds for supper, but using them would draw Herod’s attention rapidly. They didn't dare take the risk.
The horses cantered on, passing through another village with broken inhabitants, who barely looked up at them as they passed. They’d had a pretty good life under the Emperors and now Herod had taken the Throne, their lives had worsened considerably. She felt guilty and wanted to stop, to try to give them what help s
he could, but she knew it was useless. She could have closed her eyes – the horse would have continued following the leader faithfully, even if she fell asleep on the beast – yet she forced herself to keep looking. She would remember it all and one day she would return to extract revenge.
“This way,” Sir Pellaeon called, as he suddenly led them off the road and into a smaller track, leading along the side of the Greenwood. Eleanor felt the bursts of raw magic deep within the wood and smiled, remembering the storage gem she'd hidden in their rooms. Perhaps Herod himself would go to visit her, intent on a preview of the wedding night and get a nasty surprise when he walked through his wards. “Come on.”
They cantered through the forest for several miles before they reached a small stone building, carefully hidden within the trees. Sir Pellaeon slipped off his horse – which started to chew the grass with a bored expression – and stepped up to the door, pressing his hand against a small stone. The door opened and he waved for the girls to slip off their own horses and come and join him, so Eleanor did. Coaxing the Oracle off her horse was harder, but eventually she jumped down into Sir Pellaeon’s arms.
“The Knights of the Golden Order are farsighted,” Sir Pellaeon said, as they entered the building. It revealed itself to be a storage dump, with weapons, armour and other pieces of equipment scattered around. “We should be able to find everything we need here.”
The Black Knife Page 37