“Oh, stuff it, Illum,” Walter suddenly spat. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is the Mistress of Amenkor! She drove the Chorl out of Amenkor. If not for her, you wouldn’t even have any resources to protect. You wouldn’t even be a merchant!”
“Most likely,” Avrell added tightly, “you’d be dead.”
Utter silence. But I could see that the thought wouldn’t hold Illum for long. I could feel it.
“If you help fund the building of a wall—one that will enclose the eastern portions of the city as well as the Dredge—I will give you a portion of the land inside that wall.”
All four of the merchants’ interest piqued.
Avrell stepped forward and laid a sheaf of papers out onto the table of the audience chamber. “Our engineers have studied the surrounding land and have decided that the best place to build the wall is here, with three gates leading out of the city—one for the main road to the east obviously, and two others, here and here. The wall would connect to the existing walls of the palace here, above the southern cliff face and extend around to the wall along the southern jut of land leading out to the watchtower on the harbor.”
“What about the River?” Jack Trevain said. He usually kept silent, letting the others speak for him, but once the plans had been produced, he’d leaned forward intently, brow creased in thought.
“Aside from the gates themselves, the River would be the most vulnerable part of the wall. We intend to build the wall over the River, with a metal gate that could be lowered into the River’s bed in the event of an attack.”
Jack nodded.
“What holdings would we get inside the wall?” Illum demanded.
Walter shot him a disgusted glance.
Avrell shoved the map of the wall’s plans to one side, producing another map of the city as it stood after the attack. “A significant portion of the lower city was destroyed during the attack. We’ve divided up the worst sections into four parcels, all of which have a few buildings that remain intact.”
All four merchants, including William, leaned forward over the new map, mumbling under their breath as they traced the allotments out. Avrell stepped back, arms crossed on his chest. Jack and Walter seemed impressed, their first low mutters escalating into excited whispers. William had already seen the map, had helped Avrell and me draw it up.
But Illum stood back after a long moment and said, “There’s nothing in the middle ward here. It’s all in the lower city.”
Everyone in the room stilled. Jack and Walter kept their eyes on the table. Keven took a single, meaningful step forward.
I stood, let my irritation furrow my brow as my eyes narrowed. “Are you saying the terms are not acceptable?”
Illum hesitated, fear flashing briefly in his eyes. He brushed at his straw-colored hair, glanced once toward the other merchants, then straightened. His eyes hardened. “I’m saying that the addition of a building in the middle ward—a building to house our new operations—would make the terms acceptable.”
No one moved. I could feel Avrell willing me to say no, could feel Keven’s disapproval like a hand pressing into my back.
But I thought of what Catrell had said, that the army wasn’t large enough for us to meet the Chorl outside the city and expect a good outcome, that it wouldn’t be large enough for such an attack within the next few months. We needed this wall.
And according to William, I needed the resources of all four of the new merchants’ in order to build it. If I couldn’t get Illum to agree . . .
I let the tension in the room hold for a moment longer, then said in a dangerously flat voice, “Very well. Avrell will draw up the agreements and send them to the guild.”
Illum nodded, a self-satisfied smirk flickering across his face as he turned toward the door. I felt the urge to draw my dagger, restrained myself with effort as Illum, Jack, and Walter filed out the door.
William lingered.
“You shouldn’t have given in,” Avrell said, moving to reassemble the pages scattered on the table.
“I had no choice,” I said shortly.
“Next time, he’ll want more.”
“Next time,” I growled, “I need to have more options.”
Avrell didn’t say anything, but he paused at the door. “I’ll have Nathem start the work on the agreements right away.”
When he left, I sank back down into my chair with a heavy sigh.
Silence reigned for a long moment, but then William stood. “Illum is an arrogant bastard.”
I gave a short laugh, then caught William’s gaze. “He reminds me of Bloodmark. Except he doesn’t carry a knife.”
William’s expression sobered. Not many knew of Bloodmark, the first person I’d killed in the slums because I’d wanted him dead. Because he’d killed the white-dusty man and his wife, to hurt me. He hadn’t been one of Erick’s marks.
But he’d deserved to die.
William looked up. “How is Erick?”
I shook my head. “The same.”
When William didn’t respond, I stood. I could feel William’s sympathy and grief, knew he could do nothing to soothe the same ache I felt inside myself. “In fact, I need to go see him now. Isaiah has me help feed him. I use the White Fire to get him to eat, since he can’t feed himself. And for a little while, I take away his pain.”
As I moved toward the door, William said, “I’ll come with you.”
* * *
“No!”
Ottul stamped her foot where she stood looking out over the eastern portions of Amenkor, her arms folded obstinately across her chest, her back rigid, her face contorted into a fierce scowl.
I almost growled in frustration, shot a glance toward Marielle, who stood behind me near the doorway to Ottul’s room.
Quietly, Marielle said, “It started a few days ago. She’s refused to work with me since. All she says is ‘No!’ and then stands there rigidly, like now, or falls into that hunched over position, moaning and chanting. Praying. I don’t know what to do.”
I frowned, turned back to Ottul.
Four days ago, I’d informed her of the captured Chorl warriors’ deaths. It had taken a while to get her to understand, but when I placed the spine the last few warriors had used to kill themselves onto the table, she’d gasped and reached out toward it, almost involuntarily—
Then halted. Withdrawing her hand, she’d stepped away, turned her back on the table, on me. She’d muttered a single word, “Antreul,” and then fallen silent, staring out over the city, trembling.
On the river, her grief had been thick, but not enough to overwhelm her fear.
Even as I tried to sort out the emotions that lay beneath the fear, she’d stepped back from the window, had curled up into the same kneeling position I’d seen before, her face already wet with tears, and started to pray. Her voice choked with phlegm, face twisted into a tortured look—like grief but not completely grief—she’d covered her head with her arms and begun to rock.
It was a reaction I’d expected . . . and yet it wasn’t. I didn’t understand the emotions that lay beneath the grief. I didn’t understand the guilt, the self-loathing.
Antreul.
Now, I bit back the bitter, commanding words that leaped to my mouth, forced myself to relax, to think. She no longer cooperated with Marielle, and I needed her to cooperate. Erick needed her to cooperate. I needed to trust her enough to let her look at Erick, to see if she could help with the spell placed on him.
But at the moment, I wanted to throttle her. I suddenly wondered if Erick had ever felt this way during the training sessions with me in the slums.
The thought brought a faint grin to my lips.
A gust of wind blew through the open window and Ottul closed her eyes, leaned in toward it, her long black hair fanning out behind her. She sucked in a deep breath and held it, savoring
the fresh air.
I turned suddenly, moved toward the door behind Marielle, sensing by the prickling in my neck that Ottul was watching me from behind. I opened the door to the hall and spoke a few moments with Keven and the Servant Trielle, who was guarding the wardings. Keven frowned in disapproval, but nodded. Two guardsmen were sent, and all of those that remained tensed, glances passing between them.
I turned back to the room, to Marielle.
Ottul watched with blatant distrust from the window. But the distrust was tinged with curiosity.
“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Marielle whispered.
I shook my head. “No.”
Without closing the door, I moved back into the room, halting two steps before Ottul. She didn’t draw back. But her eyes narrowed.
“Then what?” Marielle asked, frustration tainting her voice. “What are you doing?”
“We,” I said, “are going to go on a little . . . excursion.”
Ottul scowled as she tried to figure out the words.
I smiled, even though my shoulders had tightened. Behind, I heard the arrival of the additional guardsmen Keven had sent for, felt Trielle unravel the warding to let them into the room.
Ottul’s eyes widened, her arms coming down into a defensive posture, the river roiling as she prepared to fight. She hissed, the sound harsh with warning, like a gutterscum cat cornered at the end of an alley.
I didn’t react, didn’t prepare a shield or shift my stance.
After a moment, the guardsmen staying near the door, Ottul faltered.
“Follow me,” I said, turning my back to her as I moved to the door. At its entrance, I glanced back, motioned her forward. “Come here.”
She knew those words. Uncertain, she straightened from her defensive stance and shifted forward, her gaze flickering between the guardsmen to either side, to Marielle in mute question, then back to the guardsmen. She halted when one of them coughed, glared at him, then continued until she stood at Marielle’s side.
The guardsmen closed in around us, Trielle still outside, ready to pull the warding back into place if Ottul showed any sign of attacking. Another Servant—Heddan, a young girl from the north, her straw-colored hair vibrant compared to Trielle’s darker tangles—had joined her. I gave them both a nod, saw Heddan bite her lip. Trielle was older, close to my age, her face grim, her eyes locked on Ottul’s every move. They’d all heard how hard it had been to capture and hold Ottul initially.
Keven waited in the hall. “Are you certain this is a good idea?” he asked as we began moving down the hall, guardsmen on all sides, the two Servants behind. Ottul kept close to Marielle. She tried to see everything at once, her neck craning to peer through the guardsmen ahead and to the sides while at the same time trying to remain out of sight.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But she’s no longer cooperating, and I need to know what’s happened to Erick. We’ve run out of things to do while she’s trapped in that room.”
“I suppose.”
I shot Keven a dark look. “We’re taking her to the gardens where the Servants are training. If she can escape from all of us there . . .” I let the thought trail off, heard Keven grunt in agreement.
When we reached the gardens, Eryn had the Servants paired off and scattered throughout the paths among the newly leafed trees and bushes and the spring flowers. She was moving among them, barking out orders or correcting flaws. She saw us pause at the garden’s entrance, but didn’t immediately head over.
As we waited, Keven motioned to the guardsmen, who spread out along the perimeter of the garden in both directions.
Ottul barely noticed. Her eyes had narrowed as soon as she saw the Servants, her back going rigid. She watched the practice session intently.
Breaking away from the last pair, Eryn came to my side. “Keven sent word that you were coming. I have them practicing shield placement and manipulation, something innocuous, since . . .” Her gaze flicked toward Ottul.
“Good.”
“What do you want to do with her?”
I shrugged. “Let her watch. Keeping her in the room isn’t working anymore. If we want her to cooperate, we’re going to have to let her out sooner or later. Let’s sit her down near the pool. Trielle and Heddan can watch her. I want to see what you’ve come up with regarding the linking of the Servants.”
I caught Ottul’s attention, led her to a small pool, a curved stone bench at its edge, and forced her to focus on my eyes. “Stay here.”
When she gave a grudging nod of understanding, Eryn, Marielle, and I moved aside, leaving Trielle and Heddan behind to watch her.
“We haven’t had much success with linking the Servants,” Eryn said. “Basically, we’re working off the idea that the link is forged like the strength-draining conduit I and the Ochean used against you while sparring or fighting, except in reverse. So far, I’ve managed to get a few of the Servants to connect using such conduits, and to transfer their strength back and forth.”
“But?” I prompted.
Eryn shook her head. “But even though they’re supporting each other, augmenting each other’s power, it still isn’t increasing their strengths to the level that the Ochean and the Chorl exhibited. I don’t think this is what they’re doing when they forge a link.”
“Show me what you’ve done.”
“Gwenn.”
One of the Servants halted her construction of a merged shield with another Servant, letting the currents of the river flow back into their natural paths, and stepped forward.
“Yes, Mistress. Eryn,” Gwenn said, and bowed her head, fidgeting nervously. She was young, no more than ten, and practically seething with energy.
“The Mistress wants to see you and Marielle attempt a linking. As you’ve done during practice.”
Gwenn groaned, but Marielle grabbed her by the elbow and stepped to one side, kneeling before her and whispering to her, hands on her shoulders, but not loud enough for me to overhear. Gwenn shot a glance toward me, eyes wide and terrified in her rounded face, then to the ground. Her hands clasped before her, she stared at the ground hard, then closed her eyes and drew in a short breath.
Satisfied, Marielle stood and stepped away, closed her eyes as well.
On the river, the flows between them grew disturbed, as if someone had reached forward and swirled them with their hands. Then I felt tendrils reach out from Gwenn toward Marielle, snaking forward and intertwining until they formed a thin conduit. When the conduit reached Marielle, it attached itself to a place near Marielle’s heart, where I could see the White Fire I’d placed inside Marielle before the Chorl attack burning.
Marielle smiled in satisfaction. “Now form a shield, Mistress.”
“What for?” I asked, already forming the shield before me. I noted that Eryn had stepped away, had deferred to Marielle now that she and Gwenn were linked.
“So I can show you how it works,” Marielle said with a twisted smile.
I waited, shield in place—
And suddenly felt Marielle pushing at the shield from the far side. It wasn’t an attack, wasn’t an edged blade or a punch of force, but instead a widespread gentle pressure that steadily increased, to the point where I felt myself unconsciously pushing back in order to keep the shield in place, a wall being held up by another wall.
“This is just me,” Marielle said, her voice a little short with effort. “Now we’ll add in Gwenn.”
Before she’d finished, I felt energy pouring down through the conduit from Gwenn—
And I gasped, staggered as the pressure on my shield doubled, shoving me back.
“Enough,” Eryn said.
Gwenn let the conduit go, and Marielle dropped the pressure against my shield. Both had satisfied expressions on their faces, although Gwenn’s appeared more exultant than Marielle’s. The older Servant reached ou
t and ruffled the hair on Gwenn’s head, an unconscious gesture that sent a pang through my heart. Erick had ruffled my hair the same way on the Dredge.
Behind us, I heard someone snort.
Frowning, I turned and caught Ottul watching, her face twisted into a sneer. As soon as she caught my gaze, the sneer vanished and she dropped her head, as if she were inspecting the reeds at the edge of the pool, or the little minnows in its depths.
“That felt fairly significant to me,” I said, turning back. Gwenn looked crestfallen, her eyes on Ottul. “Why do you think the Chorl are using something different?”
“Because when we try to link more than two people together there isn’t a subsequent doubling of the power for each person, as we saw from the Ochean and her links. When four of them were linked together—the Ochean and three of her Servants—the resultant force was around eight times the strength of just one. When we link four people together, we only get about four times the force.”
“The difference is geometric, rather than arithmetic,” Marielle broke in. “When we link, we’re only adding individual strengths together. When the Chorl link, their strengths are being multiplied together.”
It sounded suspiciously mathematical. “So they’re using a different kind of link.” I tried to think back to the attack on the outer walls, as seen through Eryn’s eyes. That was the only time we’d witnessed the Chorl actually linking, so that they could destroy the inner gates. They’d linked to destroy the watchtowers over the bay, but no one had seen that attack, only the consequences. “Do you remember seeing how they linked to destroy the gates?” I asked Eryn.
“No.” Her voice was laced with regret. “I was too distracted trying to defend the gates to pay that close attention.”
“So was I. They used conduits somehow, though. I remember seeing the conduits form. But it happened too fast for me to see details.”
We both looked toward Ottul.
“She knows how to do it,” Eryn said, and Ottul turned, as if she sensed that we were talking about her. “That’s obvious now.”
“Yes. We just have to figure out how to get her to tell us.”
The Throne of Amenkor Page 83