by Spurrier, Jo
‘Well, for one thing, neither Mira nor her mother will simply hand the Wolf Lands over to an outsider, no matter who Mira’s forced to marry. But to be honest, Sirri, I don’t know. There aren’t many who are willing to take the risk of sheltering us. I think we’ll have to take what we can get. If nothing else, the Wolf Clan will give us some time to work out just what other options we have — presuming we’re not overrun by then.’
‘Are there any other options?’
He sighed. ‘There was a time we talked about heading west to the Akharian Empire, but I think that ship has sailed. Before the invasion, and before this wretched arm, we might have stood a chance, but now?’ He turned to her, still a little unnerved at trying to have a conversation with someone whose eyes he couldn’t meet. ‘But you could ride that way. Would Kell chase you into the empire?’
‘The Akharians kill mages like me — or so Kell says. I suppose he might have been lying. Their sorcerers are trained to serve the emperor. Kell says they are slaves — better treated than the brutes who work in the mines and the fields perhaps, but slaves all the same. Any who learn the ways of the Blood are slaughtered, no matter how many of their own men it takes to kill him. Even their generals won’t tolerate a Blood-Mage, however useful they might find one in battle. I suppose —’ She broke off just as Isidro felt a shiver run through his body, a tremor that rippled along his nerves and wrung a wave of pain from his ruined arm. Isidro grabbed for the pommel of his saddle as he felt himself sway. The hillside dipped and swung around them and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea.
The moment his eyes closed a shadowy scene appeared in the darkness behind his eyelids. Isidro saw a knife in his right hand, which was whole and unbroken, and with the other he dragged a bound and gagged man from the saddle of a nervous horse.
Isidro shook his head, trying to force the picture away, but it stayed with him even after he opened his eyes again, a ghostly image overlaying his own vision. His horse, the mare Sierra had stolen during her escape, seemed to sense something was wrong — she tossed her head and broke into a nervous, jolting trot. Isidro gathered up the reins and tried to soothe her with his voice and his seat, but it only made the mare quicken her pace and fight the bit.
‘What’s going on?’ Sierra said, groping for the pommel of her saddle.
‘Something’s upsetting the horses.’
She kicked her feet out of the stirrups. ‘It’s probably me. I’d better get down —’
‘No, stay where you are. If they’ve caught wind of something stalking us, a leopard or a tiger, you’ll be safer where you are.’
‘I can deal with a predator, but I don’t think that’s what’s bothering them.’ She slipped down from the saddle and staggered as she landed in soft snow.
Isidro was about to reply when he blinked again; in that moment of darkness the shadowy vision suddenly resolved into a brilliant view as clear and crisp as a reflection in mirrored glass. He was looking down at the body of a man being butchered alive. He had been gutted like a hunter’s kill, belly and abdomen laid open, ribcage cracked and wrenched apart to expose his beating heart. In that vivid glimpse, Isidro saw bloody hands reaching for it.
The next thing Isidro knew, he was stumbling through the snow with his heart pounding and his head feeling as if it was about to explode. Sierra was beside him with his good arm across her shoulders, bearing up beneath him to support his weight. She’d pulled her blindfold down and was squinting at him through reddened eyes. ‘By the Black Sun,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You see it too, don’t you?’
‘What in the hells is happening?’
‘It’s Rasten. He forged a link with you when he worked the rituals. You’re seeing through his eyes, but he can’t see you. We’re not in any danger.’
Blood and flame filled his vision. Eyes open or closed, it made no difference — he couldn’t look away from the scene playing out before him. It triggered memories he did his best to keep buried and once again he could smell the hot iron and the sweet, foul stench of burning hair and skin.
‘Isidro!’ Sierra’s hand tightened on his shoulder. ‘Don’t think about it! Stay here. Focus on something else.’ He clenched his teeth and tightened the muscles of his wounded arm. It sent a spear of pain through him, enough to make him cry out, but it drove the other view from his mind. For a few seconds, there was no room in his mind for anything but pain.
Beside him, Sierra trembled. ‘Not like that!’ she gasped. ‘Black Sun …’
‘It’s the only thing that works,’ he said. Too weak to hold himself up, he dropped to his knees and slumped against Sierra, trusting her to support them both.
‘Do you want me to get Cam?’
‘No,’ he said. Cam would only worry if he saw him like this. Another blink and the vision shifted. This time, he saw a wave of flame engulf men and horses in a sooty red haze. ‘By the Fires Below, what’s he doing?’
‘He’s killing them,’ Sierra said softly. Then Isidro heard hoofbeats approaching them and felt Sierra stiffen. He looked up and saw Cam riding towards them with Rhia close behind.
Cam’s face was a dark mask of anger and when he reined in he slipped down from the saddle before his horse had halted. He dropped the reins, trusting his horse’s training to make it stand, and strode towards them. ‘What in all the hells is going on here?’
Sierra straightened but before she could reply, Rhia drove her horse towards her. ‘What have you done? Get away! Get away from him!’
Sierra raised a hand and Isidro felt her power prickle over his skin. A spark leapt from her hand and flickered up her arm, coursing around her shoulder and torso in a tangle of blue light. Rhia’s horse shied violently and upset her seat so badly she had to grab for the mane to keep from falling.
With a snarl, Cam strode forward and seized hold of Sierra’s wrist. ‘Don’t you threaten her —’
Sierra flinched as though expecting a blow, but then with a shudder she brought herself under control and met his glare with one of her own. ‘Let go of me,’ she said with deadly calm.
Cam released her wrist and took a step back, hands raised in a gesture of peace.
Rhia, her mount now under control, slipped from the saddle and went to Isidro. ‘What did she do to you?’
‘She didn’t do anything —’
‘Curse it, Isidro, don’t give me that,’ Cam said. ‘I can see that something is wrong.’ He turned back to Sierra. ‘Why in all the hells didn’t you call for help?’
‘Because I asked her not to!’ Isidro shouted. The effort left his head spinning and he slumped down again. Mercifully the visions of blood and flames had ended, but in their wake he felt some phantom force prickling through his flesh, jangling over his nerves and leaving them raw and frayed.
Cam took a breath through clenched teeth. ‘Will one of you please tell me what’s going on here!’
‘It’s Rasten,’ Sierra said. ‘He’s on our trail with a couple of dozen men, and someone attacked him.’
‘Who? Not Wolf men, surely?’
‘No,’ Sierra said. ‘I heard them shouting and I think they were Akharian.’
‘You heard them?’ Isidro said, looking up at her. ‘I couldn’t hear a thing.’
‘Well, no, but you’ve never dealt with a ritual link before — I’m surprised you saw anything more than a few flashes. But Kell and Rasten have been using me in rituals for years now and I’ve grown used to the echoes.’
‘But how can you be sure they were Akharian? Do you know the language?’
‘I don’t, but Kell does. He taught Rasten and I’ve heard them use it.’
Cam was scowling at her with his fists jammed against his belt. Before he could speak again, Sierra turned to him. ‘Look, the rituals Kell and Rasten use leave these marks behind, like scars. The lore calls them “wounds of the soul”.’
‘Wounds of the soul? What a load of rot —’
‘Yes, I know it sounds stupid, b
ut that’s how Rasten explained it to me. The ritual forges a connection between the mage and the subject and it remains for as long as they both live. It’s kind of a … a conduit for energy, and it flows both ways. While Rasten was gathering power, some of that energy spilled back down the conduit to Isidro, carrying an echo of what Rasten was seeing.’
‘Does that mean Rasten can see what I see?’ Isidro demanded.
Sierra made a face. ‘Under the right circumstances, yes, but it’s unlikely. When I escaped, Rasten tried to reach me, to trick me into giving myself away. I could hear him but because I didn’t reply he had no way of knowing if I had. You have an affinity for power, Isidro, but it is very weak. Even if you wanted to make contact, I doubt you could reach far enough for anyone to hear. We only heard Rasten because he’d raised more power than he could easily hold and some of the overflow spilled down the conduits to us.’
‘But what if Rasten tried to reach him?’ Cam said. ‘If he traced me to the village, he could have found out what we bought, and from that he could guess that Issey’s still alive. Could Rasten do the same thing and see through Isidro’s eyes?’
‘He can try, but unless Isidro returns contact, it won’t do him any good. Since Isidro doesn’t know how to raise power, there’s no issue of him raising more than he can hold.’
‘Not for him,’ Cam said. ‘But what about for you? If these echoes are unintentional, you could be sending them, too.’
Sierra shrugged. ‘It’s possible, but I’m not carrying that kind of power — not since that battle the other night. Even then, it wouldn’t tell him where I am, not unless he recognises some landmark nearby. All you see is a picture: there’s no sense of distance or direction. It can’t put us in any more danger than we’re already in.’
‘Is this all in that book of yours?’ Isidro said, looking up at her.
‘I think so,’ Sierra said. ‘Not that I can understand the rotten thing. But I’ll show you when we stop tonight. You might make more sense of it than I have.’
Isidro nodded. The stones set into the cover carried enchantments that preserved the parchment and the ink. He had realised when looking at it last night that the book was much older than he’d first thought. The language was archaic, and to someone like Sierra, who’d only learned Mesentreian when Kell had taken her prisoner, it was almost incomprehensible.
Cam hooked his thumbs into his belt and scowled. ‘So Isidro’s a sorcerer too, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Nothing of the sort. He’s a Sensitive, but you must have known that already. What Kell and Rasten did blasted open the channels of his power, but he still can’t use it any more than a child can swing a battle-axe. This is why Blood-Mages do their best to make sure no one leaves their dungeons alive — otherwise there would be dozens of folk like Isidro, able to spy on them whenever their power ran high.’
His head clearing now, and his heart slowing to a more natural rhythm, Isidro looked down at his ruined arm and suppressed a sigh. If he could wield power like Sierra … And what difference would that make? he told himself. He’d still be crippled, still be unable to tie his shirt or his sash, would never set a snare or lash a load down on a sled. ‘They were Akharians?’ he said to Sierra. ‘You’re certain?’
She bit her lip. ‘As certain as I can be. It sounded like the language I’ve heard Kell and Rasten speak, but I don’t know it myself.’
‘Isidro would know,’ said Cam, ‘but you didn’t hear it, did you? Did you see anything that would tell you who they were?’
Isidro shook his head. ‘They were wearing war-coats with the hoods pulled up, with snowgoggles and cowls over their mouths as if they’d been lying in wait and wanted to catch the frost from their breath.’ He glanced up at Sierra. ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, just that I didn’t see anything to identify them.’
‘It could have been Charzic’s men,’ Cam said. ‘I still think it’s madness for the Akharians to come east. I don’t see why they’d turn their backs on Severian’s army to run around here in the north for the sake of a scattered handful of slaves. And if they were, we would have heard about it in the village — someone would have seen smoke from the burning buildings and there would be people fleeing ahead of the legions.’
‘I know what I heard,’ Sierra snapped. ‘I told you about this days ago! If you still don’t believe me, it’s your cursed problem.’
‘Look, either way we need to keep moving,’ Isidro said as he rose shakily to his feet. Both Rhia and Sierra moved to offer him a steadying hand, but Rhia was closer and she warned Sierra off with a glare. ‘Whoever they were makes no difference. Rasten tore them to shreds and there’s no longer any doubt that he’s on our trail.’
Chapter 14
Sierra bent over the book with a frown creasing her brow, brushing the tip of her braid against her lips. When her eyes shifted back to the start of the passage she’d already read several times before, she bit the thick rope of hair in a sudden fit of frustration, and when she reached the end spat it out in disgust. ‘Fires Below, I’ve read this passage five times and it still makes no sense!’
Isidro lifted his head from the pillow of his arm. ‘Let me see?’ Sierra shifted it around for him and then raised her arms above her head to stretch her back as best she could in the low-roofed tent.
Isidro scowled as he puzzled through the text. ‘You’re right,’ he said after a few moments. ‘It’s nonsense.’ He flicked back through a few pages of dense, crabbed script. ‘Is this the only book Kell had?’
‘It’s the book,’ Sierra said. ‘Whenever Rasten gave me a lesson, it came from that. Not that it made any more sense then. He’d have me copy a page out, and then he’d go through it line by line and explain what the wretched thing meant. At first I thought it was just because I didn’t speak Mesentreian well enough, but now I’m not so sure.’ She lay down, rolling onto her back, and covered her eyes with one hand. The worst of the snow blindness had passed and she could open her eyes in daylight now, but only while she was wearing goggles to reduce the glare. At the end of the day when her eyes were tired, her vision tended to blur again.
‘I don’t think your Mesentreian is the problem,’ Isidro said. ‘I think it’s written to be confusing.’ He turned back to the frontispiece of the book, where a list of names had been scrawled with dates beside each one. ‘Blood-Mages aren’t known for treating their apprentices well, I take it?’
Sierra snorted. ‘They’re no better than slaves.’
‘That’s what I thought. So, no Blood-Mage would want his apprentice to learn something he wasn’t ready to teach. And they definitely wouldn’t want a runaway to steal the book and learn all his master’s skills for himself …’
Sierra held herself very still for a moment and then began to curse. ‘May the Black Sun cut out his worthless heart and feed it to her hounds. I’ve been lugging that dead weight all this way for nothing.’
‘Well, the real knowledge has to be in here somewhere,’ Isidro said. ‘It’s probably a memory-aid of sorts, otherwise there’d be no value in keeping it. The challenge is just to separate the real mage-craft from the drivel. Which isn’t going to be easy, given how little we know of mage-craft.’
There were a score or so of names on the list, with dates that spanned more than three hundred years. ‘Were these apprentices?’ Isidro asked, running a finger down the list. ‘It looks as if some of them died before their masters.’
‘The only way an apprentice can be free is if he kills his master,’ Sierra said. ‘Most of them die in the attempt. You see that name above Rasten’s? Pendaran? He’s the reason Kell walks with a cane. He tried to hamstring the old man.’
‘You’re not on here,’ Isidro said.
‘Well, I wasn’t really an apprentice. More of a servant, I suppose. Kell used me to generate power. He never meant me to be able to wield it.’ Sierra frowned at the tent roof. ‘Do you know the stories of Vasant and his books?’
‘Of course.’
<
br /> While the most powerful and power-hungry mages aligned themselves with the factions fighting for survival against Queen Leandra’s forces, there were other mages who wanted no part of the fight for supremacy — the scholars and tradesmen of the craft, weak in power for the most part. Some were rejected by their kin and driven away; others left voluntarily rather than expose their families to the danger of trying to protect them from an increasingly hostile population. While Leandra was hounding the last of the factions, in order to remain independent of the warring sides, these mages came together under the leadership of the most powerful, the scholar later known as the Demon Vasant.
Leandra had ordered the clans under her banner to destroy every book of mage-craft and every mage-crafted device they could find. As the order went out, these minor and independent mages preserved what they could of their history and their craft and, under Vasant’s leadership, gathered together all the books and relics they could find. Vasant hid them in various caches and hoards throughout Ricalan until Leandra finally cornered him and his followers at the temple complex once known as Blood-of-Earth, but now called Demon’s Spire. There, Vasant had made his last stand, and after losing fully half her men, Leandra wore the Last Great Mage and his followers to exhaustion and slaughtered the last mages of Ricalan, a rag-tag army of scholars, hearth-mages and wandering craftsmen.
‘Do you think they still exist?’ Sierra said. ‘The books, I mean? When I was a girl I used to dream about finding them. I thought there must be something there that would teach me how to use my power. I’ve heard the tales the priests tell, that Leandra found them and had them all destroyed, but they might have been lying to keep people from searching for them.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past them,’ Isidro said. ‘According to the histories, Vasant was the greatest mind of his age — he knew Leandra would be searching for them. It’s hard to believe he left them somewhere where people with no power at all would have been able to find them and destroy them.’