Winter Be My Shield

by Spurrier, Jo

  Torren shoved Isidro to his knees and stepped back. He was still furious but his fury was under control as he turned to the commander. ‘Nothing, sir. There were some books there but they are nothing but mould and pulp.’

  Isidro slumped to the floor, his head pounding for want of air. But even as he gasped for breath, his mind was racing. Vasant wouldn’t have left his books in an airless cavern to moulder and rot. If the books weren’t hidden behind the walls in the outer passages, where else could they be?

  Even his enemies had been forced to admit Vasant was a genius. He must have found some way to keep the books here in a form that couldn’t be stolen or destroyed. Precisely what he had done Isidro couldn’t imagine, but he was certain it had something to do with the vast and complex enchantment overhead.

  Momentarily forgotten while Delphine and Torren both argued their cases to the increasingly impatient commander, Isidro heaved himself to his feet with the support of the railing.

  There were three paths laid out before him. He could do nothing. He could refuse to help them decipher this enchantment and deny them the treasure they sought. But the Akharians might well untangle it without his help and then his captors would have no reason to spare him from harsh treatment. Isidro had already broken once under torture. He had no faith in his ability to hold out a second time, despite Torren’s relative restraint.

  Another option was the void before him. Delphine’s shield was gone and there was nothing to stop him from throwing himself from the platform and down onto the rocks below …

  Except perhaps that it would make Sierra believe there was nothing for her here and leave her with no one but Rasten to teach her. And there was Cam to consider. How would he survive if Rasten convinced Sierra to return to him? With Sierra to supply them with power, the king wouldn’t need the warriors the Wolf Clan could provide. The clan would need to pay a hefty price to buy forgiveness for their rebellion. Mira’s sentiment for Cam had kept him safe so far, but how long would it take for the Wolf Elders to realise that handing Cam back to the king and his mother would turn the bargaining in their favour? Cam would be safe so long as his alliance with Sierra held. She was his last true ally and if that alliance broke Cam would have nothing to fall back on.

  He couldn’t do it to them. No matter how he longed for release from a life that had spun out of his control, a release from the pain and the fear and this awful sensation of helplessness, he couldn’t abandon them. His conscience would not allow it.

  That left one option. He could activate the enchantment. Just what it would do, Isidro couldn’t know. That path was a blank and he couldn’t imagine the consequences. To take it would be a gamble but if the other choices were equally untenable then there was no decision to make.

  Seemingly of its own accord, his hand reached for the stone overhead. This time there was no welter of images. The part of him that sensed power knew the enchantment now and in turn it seemed to recognise him. The power pulsed beneath his fingertips, waiting for his command.

  Show me, he said inside his head — and activated the device.

  A ripple of power ran through the network of stones and they pulsed in a flash of vivid violet blue. Glowing like stars in a clear sky they radiated light down onto the steaming pool, illuminating the haze of steam in the air like sunlight breaking through clouds.

  When he removed his hand from the stone the light remained, tracing an intricate pattern in the air. Behind him the Akharians had fallen silent, their argument forgotten as Isidro stepped to the edge of the platform and laid his hand on the railing.

  The beams of light traced lines and lines of text on the flat, mirror-like surface of the water below. For a moment, all Isidro could do was stare at them dumbly. It took him a long moment to recognise they were the titles of books, arranged in two neat columns. Another thrum of power beneath his hand drew his attention to the railing, where more lights had appeared beneath the broad, flat surface of marble-like stone. He touched one hesitantly and the image traced onto the water changed, showing two more columns different from the first.

  His knees felt weak and for a moment Isidro thought they might give way altogether and send him sprawling to the stone. Vasant was a genius. When he’d come to these caves he’d been faced with a hopeless situation. Even if he did find a way to preserve the books, there was no way he could hide them so that an untrained Ricalani mage could find them and the best mages the Akharian Collegium had to offer could not.

  So instead of trying to win an unwinnable battle, Vasant had changed the game.

  The points of light within the railing let him navigate through titles. Isidro selected one at random and it glowed a little brighter while the others dimmed. When another light pulsed within the railing he touched that, and the image projected onto the water changed again, displaying a double page of text.

  The books weren’t hidden in some damp cache. They were in the enchantment. Somehow Vasant had captured an image of every page in every book his followers had salvaged and locked it into that grid of stone. Isidro couldn’t comprehend just how it had been done, the hours it must have taken and the problems that must be solved, the mind that could invent such a solution … but as he flicked through the pages with a touch of his fingers he was overcome with awe.

  The books couldn’t be stolen. They couldn’t be destroyed. A powerful mage could stop up the spring that fed the pool, but Isidro suspected that trying to do so would be like trying to stop the tide. The roof of the cave could be collapsed, but not without burying a mage who tried to do so. The best Leandra and her contemporaries could do was to seal the cavern with its secrets and hope it would be forgotten.

  Now they had found it, the Akharians couldn’t take the books away. They couldn’t risk excavating the stones and dismantling the grid. Doing so could destroy the very thing they had come so far to find. By projecting the text onto such a vast canvas the purpose of the enchantment could not be concealed. Anyone who was in the cavern when the enchantment was activated would see what Vasant had wrought. Trying to keep it hidden would be a nightmare.

  Behind him Delphine gave a whoop of triumph while the commander began to curse. ‘In the name of all that’s holy, what is that?’

  ‘It’s what we came here for, commander!’ Delphine cried. ‘It’s Vasant’s treasure. By the Good Goddess, I’ve never seen anything like it!’

  ‘What in the hells does it say?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, commander! But we’ll know soon enough. We have a translator now, after all.’

  Isidro was still too shocked to react when Torren grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back from the rail to shove him against the wall.

  ‘Don’t you imagine for one moment that this is over, you barbarian dog,’ Torren snarled. ‘I still know you’re hiding something from me. I’ll get the truth if I have to wring it from you myself!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Delphine said. She was examining the lights within the railing and spared them only the briefest of glances as the text changed again. ‘There must be nearly a hundred books here and at the moment he’s the only translator we’ve got. The general’s not going to risk him to torture now.’

  With another snarl Torren slammed Isidro into the wall again, then released him and stalked down the stairs into the darkness and out of sight.

  Isidro pressed his back against the smooth stone and closed his eyes. Spirit of Storm defend us and Black Sun have mercy.

  Delphine was right. With one act he’d made himself indispensable to the Akharian Empire. These books were all in Ricalani. They were useless to the empire without someone to translate the text or teach them the language themselves.

  It made him safe from torture. The Akharians wouldn’t risk him when he was the only translator they had. But how long would it be before they found another? Any member of a ruling clan would speak Mesentreian as well as him and could translate as effectively.

  It had won him safety, true, but for how long? And in
the meantime he would be as closely guarded as any other captured valuable. If the legions were attacked they wouldn’t give him up unless they stood to be wiped out. If his chances of rescue had been slim before, now it was infinitesimally remote.

  Faced with just such a dilemma, Vasant had changed the game not just for himself, but for Isidro as well. Since he had made his choice to become Delphine’s servant he had been clinging to the hope that one day he would be able to present Vasant’s books to Sierra and give her the means to free herself from Kell and Rasten’s influence. But Vasant’s treasure was as immovable as the earth itself. Now Isidro’s last hope to help the people he loved had been snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

  He had gambled and he had lost. With one act he had sealed his fate. He was a prisoner for life.

  His legs gave way with shock and he slid heavily to the floor. Delphine must have heard, for a moment later she was crouched beside him, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. ‘What is it, Aleksar? Did he hurt your arm?’ He opened his eyes to find her frowning at him in concern.

  ‘Curse Torren for leaving you tied up in the cold all night. You are feverish again. Well, don’t worry about him. Don’t worry about a thing.’ She gave him a brilliant smile of pure and honest joy. ‘You have earned yourself a place for life with this day’s work! It will never be the same after this. Just wait and see!’

  Chapter 30

  Sierra sat on her snowshoes with her feet buried in the powdery snow at the edge of the churned up circle. Since she had finished her training session and the light and the noise had stopped, a grey squirrel had emerged and was digging stored food out from hiding places beneath the snow. Usually watching such a creature’s antics brought a smile to Sierra’s face, but tonight it wasn’t enough to lift her spirits. These rituals are stupid, she said. This makes no sense.

  I know, Rasten said. I felt the same way.

  Then why teach us this rubbish? She shrugged deeper into her furs and shivered. Dremman’s scouts always sought out the deepest valleys they could find for her training sessions, to hide the light from any Akharian scouts who might be around. The deepest valleys were also the coldest and, though her power kept her warm when it ran high, at the end of the lesson, when her strength was running down, the cold inexorably took its toll. This is a waste of time, she told Rasten. I’m getting nowhere.

  You’re not trying hard enough.

  The rituals don’t work for me!

  They will! It’s when your concentration wavers that your power breaks out and the working falls apart. You need to work on your focus. And I did tell you at the start of this that there’s a limit to what I can teach you from a distance.

  Sierra sighed in a huff of mist and said nothing. The problem was that Rasten had never learned to use his power any other way. He’d had Kell’s undivided attention during his training and Kell had made sure Rasten only ever worked using the rituals, a specific set of actions learned by rote to shape and direct his power. Before Kell had inadvertently crippled his Sympathic powers Rasten must have worked instinctively, like her, but early on in his training Kell had forbidden it and insisted he only use Kell’s method.

  It held him back as effectively as a set of mental shackles. Rasten’s workings took longer and were less flexible and more constrained than Kell’s. From the moment he had taken Rasten, Kell had the foresight to ensure his apprentice would never be capable of challenging him.

  Even though she could see the issue, Sierra was too far beneath Rasten in skill to be able to challenge him. The rituals only weakened his potential. They didn’t mean he was weak, but it meant his training would instil those same flaws in her. As she saw it, there were two possibilities ahead of her — she could either follow his training and hope she didn’t lose her ability to work outside of the rituals, or she could work with him to try to find a middle ground, combining enough of both techniques to minimise the flaws. If she succeeded in the latter, however, then Rasten would be learning this new skill alongside her — and when the time came for them to face off against each other he would be a stronger opponent because of it.

  If only Isidro were here! She would welcome his advice. His power might be weak but his instinctive understanding of it, along with his sharp mind, gave him insights she would never find on her own.

  What about Vasant’s books? she asked Rasten. Surely there must be something in them that would help us?

  Well, maybe, he said, grudgingly. But even if they find them, how would you get your hands on them? I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t think you’re going to make much more progress on your own. There are some things that can only be taught in person.

  You keep saying that!

  Because it’s the truth! I know you’re frightened, but it’s not that bad. If I could survive it, you can. There’s nothing like the prospect of the rack for teaching you how to focus —

  Sierra stood, brushing the snow from her coat. That’s enough for today, Rasten. I’m cold and hungry and I’m going back to the camp.

  Wait. Before you go there’s something I need to tell you.

  Sierra glanced up to where her escort waited above on the valley slope, where the air was warmer. Cam had seen her stand and was starting down towards her. Can’t it wait until morning?

  Oh, believe me, you don’t want that. Your friend Dremman has sent me a messenger.

  He’s not my friend, Sierra snapped. A knot formed in her belly. What does he want?

  He’s intending to sell you back to Kell.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Why tell me? she demanded. Isn’t that what you want?

  I told you, I don’t want to fight you again.

  Then why go along with it? Tell him you’re not interested.

  And have him realise I’m playing a different game entirely? Why would I do that? He thinks he can use you to his profit, Little Crow. When he finds out he can’t, he may well decide it’s easier just to get rid of you. Watch your back, Sierra.

  For what? What has he planned?

  That I don’t know — and there’s no reason for him to tell me. All his messages have said is to stand by to take possession of you. So don’t say you weren’t warned.

  He severed the contact just as Cam reached the foot of the slope and crunched across the snow towards her. ‘Done for the evening?’ he asked, covering a yawn with one hand. Then he came close enough to see her stricken expression and frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  She glanced at the men on the slope. Even with the way sound carried in cold air she judged they were far enough away for her to speak in privacy. ‘Rasten said Dremman’s planning to sell me back to Kell.’

  Cam sighed. ‘Well, of course he would say that. He’s trying to scare you.’

  ‘Dremman doesn’t like having me around —’

  ‘No, he doesn’t, but he’s also not fool enough to try something so stupid.’

  Sierra steepled her hands together over her face and turned away. Ever since that night in Terundel the tension in the camp had been unrelenting. To some of the men she was a gift from the Gods; to others she was a demon in the flesh. There were eyes upon her everywhere she went. Men spat to ward off bad luck as she passed and dark whispers followed her through the camp. The only peace she had was in Mira’s tent or here during her daily lessons.

  ‘Oh, Sirri, come here,’ Cam said, moving towards her. ‘By the Fires Below, it’s wise to be wary … Did he give you any details?’

  ‘Only that Dremman’s messengers said he should be ready to take charge of me at any time.’

  ‘Look, even if Dremman means to hand you back it makes no sense to do it now. You don’t hand over a bargaining chip before you’ve made your deal. He would have no leverage once he’s passed you over. It’s more likely that Rasten’s lying to you. Or maybe Dremman is playing him.’

  Sierra shook herself. ‘You must be right. It makes no sense.’ She glanced up at the sky, half hidden behind the smoky haze that had
accumulated from her breath and the stirred-up snow. ‘It’s late. We should head back.’

  He leaned close, peering at her face. ‘You have frost.’

  Sierra quickly raised a hand to her cheek, feeling for the numb and icy patch that was the first sign of frost-nip. She held the furred back of her mitten against her cheek to warm it. ‘It gets cursed cold down here once I stop using power.’

  ‘I’ll say. Do you have something to eat?’

  Sierra shook her head. She’d kept a chunk of bannock back from the noon meal so she’d have something to eat on the ride back to camp, but she’d been hungry enough to eat it before the lesson.

  Cam pulled a parcel out from the front of his coat and handed it to her.

  ‘Oh, Cam, I can’t. I’ve already kept you from your evening meal …’

  ‘But I’ve been sitting in front of a fire drinking hot tea while you’ve been working down here in the cold,’ Cam said. ‘I kept it for you anyway. Take it.’

  With a small sigh, she accepted the parcel. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘When we get back I’ll talk to Mira about having some spare rations sent along for these evening sessions. If you’re working yourself to the bone for the army’s sake, it’s the least they can do.’

  Once they got back to the camp, however, Mira was nowhere to be found. Instead Ardamon met them at the door of the tent. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Come on, Dremman wants to see you. There’s news. The scouts we sent north have returned and they’ve brought an escaped prisoner with them. Mira’s tending to him at the moment. The Akharians are camped at Well-of-Poisons and, well … it’s not good. Hannomar’s about to deliver the report to Father’s captains. I’ve convinced him the pair of you should be admitted as well.’

  Ardamon led them to Dremman’s tent, a large, sprawling structure formed from several conical frames linked together. Inside, the officers were gathered at one end of the tent while Dremman and a few others were poring over a set of maps. At the sight of them Dremman muttered a few words to his companions and turned to the other end of the tent, beckoning them to follow with a jerk of his head.