Mirei’s calculations had been simple. If the traitor was Rana or Onomita—or, she supposed, Koika, though she seriously doubted the Earth Prime would betray them—then any ambushers would be looking for Kalistyin vagrants. Also, she and Ashin needed a more discreet way of checking for illusions and other spells. Both problems could be solved by changing their disguise.
Mirei told Satomi precisely where they were and Satomi sent them extra supplies. Soon the Kalistyin vagrants became a much more flamboyant pair of Askavyan entertainers. Neither Mirei nor Ashin had the blindest clue how to play an instrument, unfortunately, but a drum was simple enough. Ashin would be the singer, since Mirei couldn’t drop her voice low enough to fake a man’s singing. Instead, she would beat out an accompaniment to the tunes the Key had picked up in her wanderings as an Air Hand.
After an extended scrutiny, the innkeeper nodded at last. Flexing her stiff shoulder—spells made the natural healing process go faster, but her knife wound was taking longer to mend than Ashin’s skin—she tucked the drum under her arm and nodded to her companion.
With a four-beat intro, the Key began to sing in a rough, energetic voice that startled Mirei. It was completely unlike the mellifluous tones of a witch, while still being excellently on key. Ashin probably couldn’t sing off-key if she tried, and it would defeat the purpose anyway. But the performance was everything Mirei could hope for.
The innkeeper seemed less impressed. When Ashin finished the song, he stared at them for a moment; for all Mirei could read from his expression, he could be considering the tune, preparing to throw them out, or doing the season’s accounts in his head.
Finally he gave a curt nod. “You can try for tonight. Goes well enough, you can try tomorrow night. I like how you’re doing a few days after that, could be we can make some deal for the winter. But no promises.”
Ashin swept the man a florid bow. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise you that. And having entertainers around can shorten the long, dreary nights of winter.”
Unmoved by her poetic language, the innkeeper jerked a thumb at the staircase at the far end of the room. “Cupboard under there. Toss your things inside. Come sunset, you sit over there—” Another jerk of the thumb. “Play till the crowd leaves or I tell you to shut up. Any coin you get goes to me for food and space to sleep. Don’t try to palm any of it; I’ll know.”
“Thank you,” Mirei said, and went to stow their pack under the staircase.
Following her, Ashin murmured, “If worse comes to worst, we can convince him to let us stay another day.”
By which she meant a spell. Mirei shook her head. “Not unless we absolutely have to. So you’d better sing well.”
THEIR FIRST PERFORMANCE picked up no sign of magic anywhere in the vicinity, much to Mirei’s relief. Ashin sang bawdy tunes, sacrificing tone quality in exchange for volume and not sounding like a witch, and if they didn’t get much coin from the patrons, they got enough to satisfy the innkeeper and let them stay a second night, which was all the two witches wanted.
They had the daytime free, which let them scout out Tungral and get a sense of the place. The town sat just south of the border with Askavya, and had changed hands between the two domains more than once in its history. There was a narrow gap between the end of the mountains and the coast, and Tungral sat right on the road that ran through that gap. There were enough travelers through the area, even at this time of year, that their presence wasn’t deeply suspicious. But with the failure of Kalistyi’s northern silver mines, which Ashin briefed Mirei on as they wandered, Tungral’s prosperity had suffered deeply. The townspeople had a grim look, and there were more than a few buildings that were shuttered or falling apart.
“Why here?” Ashin murmured to Mirei as they sat out behind the Bear’s Claw, cradling mugs of weak butter tea and waiting for sunset to come. “Why’d she insist on Tungral?”
Mirei also kept her voice low, in case someone were to wander by. If anyone was listening to them with magic, they were in trouble, but she had no reason to think they’d been pegged. Or that anyone was even here to peg them. “This isn’t their stronghold; I’m sure of that much, after what we’ve seen today. But I think there have to be witches here.”
“Have to? Why?”
“Because of the ones we met on the road. They had a day’s warning, maybe, to get out there. They can’t have been far away. And I doubt they were the only ones here.”
Ashin nodded thoughtfully. “They wouldn’t want to strip the town bare, I’d imagine. Not if they have some reason to keep witches stationed here. Unless, of course, they were just passing through, and were given orders to divert.”
“Could be.” Mirei brooded into her tea. “Just stay alert tonight. And be sure to sing on key.”
“And you remember the promise you made. If there’s trouble, and I’m not right there at your side—”
“I remember,” Mirei said.
THE INNKEEPER WAS IN A FOUL MOOD, berating one of the serving maids for having forgotten to do some of the tasks he’d set her. The girl appeared to grow more and more flustered under his accusations, putting things in the wrong place and getting other details wrong. Mirei felt sorry for her, and very glad that this would be their last night in town.
She and Ashin were permitted a small meal before performing, a bowl apiece of rice noodles with spiced fish oil. Both swallowed it without complaint; as an Air witch, Mirei reflected, Ashin must have learned to live frugally, and to take what she could get. Much like an itinerant Hunter just out of training.
They both kept a close eye on the patrons coming in, wondering if any of them were under a spell of disguise. None of them looked around overtly, as if searching for someone they were supposed to meet, but Mirei hoped Kekkai was discreet enough not to be so obvious. Surely, after so much time playing politics, she had learned the valuable art of subtlety.
A decent crowd had gathered by the time they were done eating, and the innkeeper glared at them to get to work. Mirei dried off her hands and picked up the drum. She’d gained enough confidence with it the previous night to be bolder with her rhythms, so she gave Ashin a lengthier intro than usual, and then the witch began to sing.
She had to work to project her voice over the din of the crowd, but the answering resonance didn’t depend on ears; it hit Mirei distinctly.
A quick glance to the side confirmed that, yes, Ashin had felt it, too.
When the song finished, she leaned close to the other witch, under the pretense of picking up her mug and taking a sip, and asked, “Could you pinpoint it?”
Ashin shook her head. “Too much interference from the noise of the crowd. Can’t tell where it’s coming from. Nor what it is.”
“My money’s on a disguise. Keep listening.” Mirei straightened up hastily as a young trapper, bundled under what looked like half of his stock for sale, stepped up to where they sat. “Another song,” he said in a hoarse voice, and dropped a coin down in Ashin’s empty bowl. “Two songs. I like your voice.”
Ashin flashed a flirtatious grin at him. “Two songs it is, and I hope my husband here won’t be jealous.” Mirei remembered she was supposed to be Ashin’s husband and glowered.
Two songs later, they paused again. Ashin whispered, “It’s moving.”
“I know.” Mirei had been looking around the room, trying to spot who might be the source of the resonance, but they were crammed off to one side and sitting to boot. Half the crowd was standing, wandering around, going to the bar for more mead, talking to friends, going for a game of darts against one wall and returning to their seats. She couldn’t see clearly enough to pick the target out. “I only feel one, though. Must be Kekkai. We need to let her know it’s us.”
“How? Stand up and say so?”
“Not hardly.” They’d been quiet too long. Mirei started on the drum again as the harried serving maid from before came by with a full tray.
The first words of Ashin’s song called up a resonance so immedi
ately that it felt like a kick in the teeth.
The Key managed to keep going, and in the noise, Mirei doubted anyone heard the slight stumble in her words. But Ashin’s gaze snapped to meet Mirei’s, and then back to the serving maid, who was beyond a doubt the source of the resonance.
Should’ve seen it sooner, Mirei thought with sudden clarity, understanding at last. Forgetting tasks, doing things wrong—that isn’t the maid. No wonder she’s having such a hard time. Good cover, though.
They finished out the song, because to do otherwise would look suspicious, but then Mirei put her drum down. “I’m going to approach her,” she murmured to Ashin. “Let her know we’re here, arrange to get her out. Keep singing without me.” Rising from her seat, she scanned the crowd, found the serving maid, and began to work her way through the press of bodies.
She caught up to the disguised Kekkai just at the edge of the bar, not far from where the innkeeper was standing. Mirei sidled in close, to make it look less odd, gave the woman her best impression of a charming smile, and whispered in her ear, “Meet us out back after three more songs. We’ll take you back to Starfall.”
She got only that far before the innkeeper noticed her there. “Hey, back to your drum!” he snapped, glaring at her. “I’m not paying you to hit on my maids.”
Mirei held up her hands in apology and faded back to her seat. “Three more songs, then we go out back,” she said to Ashin, and picked her drum up again.
The songs seemed to take forever, even though Mirei knew by comparison to the previous night that Ashin was dropping verses out. When the three were finished at last, they stood up and headed for the inn’s back exit, with a pause to swipe their pack from its place under the stairs.
“She’s gonna throw up,” Mirei shouted over the din at the innkeeper as they passed the bar, gesturing with her free hand to Ashin, who obligingly looked ill. She kept her pack low and out of sight. “We’ll be back in a minute.” Then they were past him and into the sweltering warmth of the kitchen, and it was too much hassle for him to pursue them. And as Mirei had no intention of returning, she didn’t much care what he said when they came back.
Kekkai was waiting for them outside, shivering in the cold. “Let’s go,” she said fervently when she saw them. “I’m freezing. Where are the horses?”
“We didn’t bring any,” Ashin said, taking the pack from Mirei and slinging it onto her back. “Didn’t work with our disguises.”
The world snapped into focus around Mirei as she heard Ashin say that. Horses? she echoed in her mind, nerves suddenly harp-tight. Why does she think we’re riding out of here?
Void it. If you’re wrong, you can apologize later.
She slugged Kekkai with all her might and laid the woman out flat.
By the time the figure hit the ground, it wasn’t the serving maid anymore, but neither was it the Key of the Fire Heart. It was a witch Mirei had never seen before.
“What in the Void do you think you’re—” Ashin began, but then cut off abruptly as she saw the woman lying unconscious at their feet. “Damn me bloody,” she whispered, staring. “We got the wrong woman.”
“They’re looking for her,” Mirei said grimly. “We have to find her first.”
She yanked the pack from Ashin’s shoulders and ripped it open, digging her sword and knife out from where they were buried. Staring at the weapons, Ashin said, “What do you need those for? You have magic.”
“They make me feel better,” Mirei replied, and it was the truth. She was still as much Mirage as Miryo—and sometimes blades were quieter.
Ashin tied the pack closed again and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll check the front. Maybe she didn’t come in, maybe she’s waiting outside.” It was a thin possibility, but something to go on, at least. Mirei nodded, and looked down at the unconscious witch while Ashin strode off through the cold night. She was half-tempted to try and send her back to Starfall alone, and take her chances with the possibility that the woman might not arrive safely—but she didn’t dare. If there were other witches around, then the surge of power for the spell would act like a beacon. It wasn’t all Void energy, and they would be able to feel the rest of it.
Power. If Kekkai knows she’s being hunted, she’ll expect them to check for people under spells. Would she have the brains to go for a mundane disguise?
Before she could follow through on that thought, she heard a growing thunder of noise from the street.
Swiftly belting her weapons around her hips, Mirei slipped around the edge of the Bear’s Claw to look out front.
An entire troop of mounted soldiers was pulling up in front of the inn. Mirei attempted a quick count of them in the bad light; she guessed at least twenty in the immediate spot, but saw more fanning out through Tungral’s lanes, some on foot. By the torches the leaders carried, she could see the embroidered collars they wore over their armor.
A quartet of stars. The symbol of the Lady of Kalistyi.
And with the troop, there were witches.
“Fan out!” one of them barked, turning her horse so that she could watch the soldiers disperse. “Get around to the back of the inn. Move! If she gets away, it’ll be your hides.”
Mirei looked around desperately for Ashin, but the Key was nowhere in sight. Had probably taken cover when she heard this lot coming—but now what would she do?
That isn’t going to matter in a minute. Not once they find the witch out back.
“Get them out here,” the lead witch said, and more than ten soldiers trotted immediately through the front door of the Bear’s Claw.
Blood and damnation—if I’m right, and Kekkai’s in that lot . . .
Throwing caution to the winds, Mirei took her chance. As the crowd began to stumble out of the inn, milling and complaining and arguing with the soldiers, who responded with fists and kicks, she slipped herself into their midst.
She moved as quickly as she could without attracting attention and scanned the faces of the people in the crowd. The terrible light didn’t help. Not many women. Might be a man. Rule the tall ones out. She was one of the few in the crowd who was armed, the only one she saw with a sword. Somebody would notice that before much longer. If a man, then no beard, I doubt she could fake one— No sign of Ashin. But she had to find Kekkai first. So she’ll look young . . .
From somewhere among the snow-dusted houses of Tungral, but not at all far away, she felt power begin to move.
The other witches felt it, too. She saw them turn to each other, confer; a swift count by one of them seemed to show all present and accounted for. Whoever was casting a spell wasn’t one of theirs.
Then a figure stepped out into the middle of the street and faced down the company of soldiers and witches that had come to take her captive. “Leave those people alone,” Kekkai said in a clear, carrying voice. “I’m the one you’re looking for.”
At the sight of her—so clearly the target the soldiers were after—the noise of the drunken, confused crowd abated slightly. Just enough for Mirei to hear a despairing voice moan, “Oh, you stupid girl, no!”
Though her heart was screaming at her to go and help the witch who had just called the violence down on herself, Mirei wrenched her eyes away to find who had spoken.
The young trapper who had called for songs, beardless, not too tall, buried inside a wealth of furs that made his—her—build look larger than it was. Whose voice, absent the hoarseness, was the same as the woman who had just challenged the soldiers, and whose face, now that Mirei was looking for it, was Kekkai’s.
The time for subtlety was gone. She lunged through the crowd and seized Kekkai by the wrist. The woman screamed and tried to pull away. Mirei snarled, “It’s me, you blind bitch! Now we have to get to Ashin before she gets herself killed!”
“Ashin . . . ?” the Fire Key repeated, confused, but Mirei didn’t have time for her confusion; soldiers had spurred their horses forward to ride the disguised Ashin down, and the witches were singing spells, an
d Mirei knew she had made a promise to Ashin but she couldn’t just abandon the woman to die.
Power surged, and a roar of heaving earth filled the air. Over the startled yells of the crowd, Mirei could hear screams; the spell, she guessed, was Ashin’s, ripping apart the ground beneath the horses’ hooves. A cloud of snow and dust clogged the air. Hauling hard on the woman’s wrist, Mirei dragged Kekkai out of the press, drawing her sword as she went.
The scouting of Tungral paid off, as she ducked between houses and approached Ashin’s position from the side, avoiding the main avenue of attack. There were soldiers here, too, but Kekkai had recovered enough to sing as she ran; the men were knocked to the sides, clearing their path. But Mirei could feel power to her left, too, from where the other witches were massed.
She broke through onto the street, Kekkai at her heels, and found herself enveloped in a rising cloud of steam; Ashin had conjured heat to melt the snow, hiding herself for a moment longer from the sight of the other witches. Mirei threw herself in the right general direction and saw Ashin, a shadow in the mist, still looking like Kekkai.
No time to waste. The mist wouldn’t last long. Ashin saw her, grabbed hold, and Mirei began to cast the spell, praying to the Goddess that she could take both of them at once.
The power on the other side of the fog was building, but she couldn’t tell what it was, not through the weaving strands of her own spell, shaped by voice and body and desperate, frantic faith—
A flight of blades shot at them out of the mist, soldiers’ swords put in flight, and struck just as the spell snatched them away.
Chapter Eighteen
MANY WITCHES MAINTAINED schedules that kept them up some distance into the night, because they favored the starlit darkness for working spells. Scholarly and administrative work, however, was mostly carried out during the day, so the archives were not at all crowded once the sun went down. But Satomi suspected that the corner of the archives she was perusing would have been deserted even at midday, for the contents were among the most tedious and uninteresting of those kept at Starfall. No one came here unless they had a specific reason.
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