"Wouldn't it be easier to simply put what he wants to steal out of his reach?" Nyessa offered.
"Our enemy wanted to take Nixtan's bond with the bowl. He failed. He severed it, but the connection slipped beyond his reach. He wasn't able to take hold of it before the Zygradon took back the tendril of power that tied it to Nixtan." Mrillis took a deep breath. "Next time, he will be more careful. Next time, he might succeed."
"Can we train Valors to sense this attack?" Athrar asked.
"That is part of our intent," Ceera said. "All of you, whether bound to the bowl itself or through the sword, I want you to study your connection. Learn to know it as well as your own hand. Share whatever insights you find. Watch out for each other. Our enemy came close to success this time, and I fear it will not be years this time, but rather only moons, until the next attempt."
Chapter Eleven
The next attack came the day after Nixtan's funeral pyre had cooled and they had gathered up the ashes for burial. The target this time was Nainan, trying to steal her bond to Braenlicach.
Athrar felt the attack and instinctively grabbed hold of the sword, effectively snagging all the Threads attached to the sword--and tangling the attackers so they could not pull free. At the same moment, he reached through his imbrose for Mrillis and Ceera, and they joined the defense.
Mrillis and Endor led the hunt with Endor's most loyal warriors and ten Valors who had asked Mrillis to give them more extensive training. They followed the tangled, twitching trail of Threads for two days of hard riding. The Threads were visible with little effort, polluted with blood magic, and that evidence bothered Mrillis more than the recent attacks and Nixtan's death. The enemy had learned to make blood magic and imbrose work even more closely together. With so little experience in blood magic, how could the Rey'kil identify their enemies, to physically come up against them and stop them? How much stronger would their enemy grow, using this new, warped alliance of magic?
The trail took them to the coast, and Mrillis half-expected to find their enemy had managed to escape them and was halfway across the sea to Moerta. He played with the idea of asking Master Breylon to summon all the enchanters most adept at influencing the weather, to call up a storm to drive the murderers back to shore. Mrillis knew better than to progress beyond the idea.
He knew better than to speak his thoughts to Endor, who had a marked taste for big, flashy, violent demonstrations of power. So much magic would drain the Threads. Even though nothing would ever match the cataclysm that followed the destruction of Flintan, Mrillis never wanted to empty the reserves of magical power ever again. The risks were too great, especially now, with their enemy flexing his muscles and attacking them again.
Endor said little, and the men who rode with them maintained silence, all their concentration focused on following the trail of tangled Threads and the fading, sour discord. The fading worried Mrillis more than anything. The damage done to the Threads, the fading signs of the enemy's presence, worked against him. As one day of riding and tracking turned into two and signs of the coast became visible, their company grew grimmer. He nearly laughed aloud in relief when the telltale dark haze that marked the presence of illness and paralyzed magic tinged the air.
Now it was a simple matter of pressing deeper into the haze, going where the physical illness and despair felt thickest. In the center of it, they found the paralyzed users of blood magic.
It was almost a disappointment to find the cave in the cliffs alongside the river that led to the port of Quenlaque, and the six wretches who huddled together, weeping in pain, exhaustion and terror. None of the hunters knew the six men, but it was a simple matter to send their images to the masters of Wynystrys and find someone who did know them. They were all minor talents, who had taken moons to regain their imbrose after the destruction of Flintan drained the Threads of power. It was almost understandable that they had turned to blood magic when their own was crippled. But why had they turned it against the forgers of Braenlicach and the Zygradon?
Jealousy?
Just as the six men refused to identify themselves to their captors, they refused to answer the short interrogation. Or else they were too tired and ill to answer, even if they had wanted to. Mrillis and Endor bound them together with iron manacles and surrounded them with the Valors to ensure they didn't even try to use their blood magic to escape.
"I almost wish they had tried something," Endor admitted, when they brought the prisoners to Wynystrys for examination and questioning. "A little fighting and blood would make us all feel better."
Mrillis agreed, but he chose not to say so, or to respond with more than a grunt and a frown. Finding answers was more important than punishing these people who had foolishly squandered their imbrose for power that had failed them.
Master Breylon and the oldest, most experienced Rey'kil enchanters and scholars joined their imbrose to examine the minds and memories of the prisoners. There were techniques, created in the old, bitter days of warfare with the Nameless One, brutal and ruthless, to extract information when time was of the essence. They had chosen not to teach these techniques to the younger generation.
"I'm glad we do not know such things," Ceera commented, after the questioning had gone on for more than two hours in the main meeting hall.
She and Mrillis, Endor, Athrar and other leaders of Noveni and Rey'kil waited in the square around the central well for news. The entire island was eerily silent. Not even the ever-present water birds speckled the sky or made their harsh cries. The ground hummed under Mrillis' feet. If he shifted his vision he could see the colors fade from the Threads that intersected the meeting hall, as the efforts inside drained massive quantities of power.
"Hmm. Maybe. But just think how knowing the technique exists could inhibit people from attempting to attack us again," Endor commented. "Why pursue rebellion when you know your very thoughts will testify against you?"
"If you're caught," Taskan, one of Endor's hand-picked Valors, offered. "If I were spying on our enemies and got caught, and I knew they could rip secrets from my head, I'd most likely try to kill myself. Can't be very pleasant for those inside."
"Don't tell me you pity them?" Endor mocked. He slapped the younger man on the back. "Have no fear, my friend. I'll protect you."
The Valor colored and rolled his eyes in embarrassment. He didn't leave, though he wasn't on duty as guard at that time. But neither did he add anything else to the conversation, though the examination went on for nearly three-quarters of an hour more.
The Valors summoned inside the meeting hall carried out seven bodies. Two were dead. One was a prisoner and the other was Master Tetherys, one of Mrillis' least favorite teachers when he was a student. That didn't lessen the stab of pain, regret and fear at this evidence of the silent struggle that had taken place without anyone outside knowing it.
* * * *
"Their minds are clouded so they have no clear memories," Master Breylon said that evening, after those involved in the interrogation had recovered. According to the Valors and healers tending the remaining five prisoners, none had awakened yet.
"How can you search memories they don't have?" Endor muttered.
"Exactly." He swirled his steaming clay mug of wine, liberally dosed with healing herbs, and studied the surface a moment. Then he took a deep breath and lifted his gaze to meet those of the people seated around him. "It may be part of the tangled magic woven around them ..."
"What, Master?" Mrillis prompted, when his teacher's gaze focused on Endor for a few seconds too long.
"We were able to discern that someone stole their volition and forced them to practice blood magic, to destroy their imbrose. That same person--or persons--siphoned away all the power that they created, and used them as puppets. Tools. Masks, if you really think about it." He sighed again. "It's really quite clever, and cruel. And gives us no answers."
"Master?" Ceera leaned over from her place at his right hand and took hold of both his hands, to ru
b them. He's tired and cold and needs to put all this out of his mind before he can truly rest.
Then it's best he tell us quickly so he can put it behind him, Mrillis responded.
"These people claim Triska is their puppet master."
"Liars!" Endor roared, and leaped to his feet.
Athrar's Valors caught him before he could reach the door, his sword half-drawn. Mrillis found it interesting, and disturbing, that Endor's Valors did nothing, other than to flinch and watch with wide eyes as their leader struggled and cursed until they had him back in his seat.
"They claim this. We could find no proof in their minds," Master Breylon said. "I choose to believe it is merely another layer of the spell woven around them. What could be more harmful than to start us suspecting each other?"
"Then why didn't they put the blame on Ceera, or Mrillis?" he spat. "I'll tell you why. They knew you would never doubt them, but there's plenty of doubt for Triska and Nainan and me. Because of who our father is. Mixed blood means untrustworthy. Don't think I haven't heard the talk. There are plenty who want you to put aside Triska as your heir, Ceera. And I know you have been listening."
"Master Breylon believes it is a false story put into the prisoners' minds to mislead us," Ceera said quietly, her eyes big and dark with sorrow in her pale face.
Mrillis wanted to pound Endor for hurting her with his accusations.
"That is good enough for me. When the day comes to remove Triska from her place as my heir, it will be because of proven things she has done, and not accusations made by traitors and workers of blood magic." She stood, tall and straight and grave. "We have heard enough. Master, I beg you, go to bed. I am afraid what little we have learned was gained at too high a price already."
"As the Queen of Snows commands," Breylon said with a bow of his head and an ironic little smile that couldn't disguise his weariness and relief. "Tomorrow we will resume the discussion and the examination. Perhaps by then, younger minds will devise another, better way to find what we need to learn."
Before morning came, at the darkest part of the night, the five remaining prisoners gathered up what little strength they had left, spilled their own blood, and used that blood magic to kill themselves. Mrillis shuddered to realize that he had mistaken the increased thrumming of imbrose through the Threads for replenished power, and not someone--their as-yet-faceless enemy--manipulating the prisoners to force them to kill themselves.
"The irony is," Endor said, surveying the bloody, twisted bodies, "I was considering something like this before I finally fell asleep."
"Forcing them to kill each other?" Ceera asked, aghast. She pressed a hand over her mouth and stepped back from the doorway.
"No. The threat of it, yes. But the idea was to yank control of them away from their puppeteer, just like he's been trying to steal the Threads that link you to the Zygradon. And then force open the cage of magic from the inside. We might get more ideas and answers that way, rather than trying at them from the outside."
"Now we'll never know," Mrillis said quietly.
"What worries me is the chance our enemy saw the idea in my thoughts and decided to act to prevent it. Might have had a chance of succeeding." Endor shrugged and strolled out of the prison cottage.
He's worried, Ceera said, as Mrillis rejoined her outside and wrapped an arm around her waist. But is he worried enough?
* * * *
Others had the same question as Ceera, and weren't so careful to think it over and keep it to themselves until they had an answer. Despite Master Breylon's cautions and request for discretion, the news spread that the dead prisoners had accused Triska of enslaving them and forcing them to sacrifice their imbrose to harness blood magic for her use.
When Ceera and Mrillis returned to the Stronghold, Triska's simmering pot of fury and self-righteous indignation boiled over. She burst into the entryway of the tunnel from Wynystrys, just as Emrillian leaped into her parents' arms to welcome them home. Red-faced and eyes blazing, she screamed until her voice rang off the stone walls and startled a shriek from the little girl.
Take her. Ceera shoved Emrillian into Mrillis' arms.
Maybe I should--
No. Triska is my heir. I let sympathy and affection soften my reactions long enough. And I should not have reacted, but acted.
"Papa? Triska's screaming bad," Emrillian whimpered, as he cradled her against his chest and wrapped his cloak around her to muffle the young woman's shrieks of accusation.
Mrillis tried not to listen, but Triska's words were impossible to block out. She blamed Ceera for the lies being told about her. She accused both of them of feeding the unfair treatment that had held her and her siblings back for years. She lunged in front of him, blocking the way, when Mrillis tried to reach the door and take Emrillian away from the hateful scene.
"Enough!" Ceera's quiet voice rang against the walls and ceiling of the chamber with more force than all Triska's shrillness. She slapped the young woman hard enough to knock her to the floor.
"You will pay," Triska growled, and reached up a trembling hand to wipe the blood from her nose and split lip.
"I have paid in plenty already." Ceera jammed her fists into her hips and stomped over so she stood over Triska, placing a foot on either side of her thighs and pinning her skirts so the younger woman couldn't get to her feet. "Just think for a moment, you ninny! If I had believed one word of the accusations against you, would you even be here? Would you have had a chance to open your mouth against me? No. I would have come in silence and stealth and taken you prisoner, stolen your will and your very awareness and handed you over to be examined and judged. You do not know half the things I am capable of, as Queen of Snows, and if you continue in the path you are following, if you remain an arrogant child, you never will!"
Mrillis realized he had stopped short in the doorway, and his mouth hung open as he stared at Ceera in awe and wonder. He was literally stunned speechless. Instead of blazing red, her fury made her even paler. Her eyes filled with ice instead of fire, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper, yet he felt the power of her words and fury ringing through the foundations of the Stronghold. He thought if they were sensitive enough, every inhabitant could hear her pronouncement.
Long heartbeats after she stopped talking, the air still vibrated and the Threads enfolding her engorged with power, strengthening her for battle. Mrillis hoped Triska was too upset to turn her vision sideways and see that readiness. She was just irrational enough to see it as a choice to attack, rather than an instinctive defensive move.
That, he decided, was the problem with Triska. Nainan had grown up and realized that just because people weren't friendly didn't mean they were automatically her enemies. Lack of friendship simply meant people didn't care, not that they intended to attack and steal and destroy. Triska had yet to learn that. Or perhaps she had decided that since she was heir to the Queen of Snows, she was owed friendship and consideration in all matters.
He wished he could pity her.
"Endor," Triska whined, breaking the silence at last, "said you didn't--"
"Endor is not in my councils. He is not an inhabitant of the Stronghold. I am not required to consult with him. Nor am I required to consult with you. And if your brother told you what happened, then he told you that I refused to accept the accusation. He should have told you Master Breylon considered the story just another layer of the spell woven by our enemy to weaken and divide us." Ceera moved her right foot off Triska's skirts and shoved the cloth aside. She did the same with her other foot, freeing Triska without moving back, and continued to tower over her. "I have warned you repeatedly, and you have refused to learn."
"You haven't taught me half the things I need to know to be your heir!"
"That is because you refuse to learn the most basic lessons of self-control and common sense." Ceera took a deep breath, the first visible sign that all this upset or unbalanced her.
Mrillis knew she would break down weeping in his arm
s the moment they left this place. He cradled Emrillian closer and gently brushed the little girl's thoughts with his, to see if she understood what was happening. He almost burst out laughing, at the images in the child's head, equating the confrontation to one of the bullies among the children getting her bottom swatted and being made to stand in the corner. He shared the image with Ceera and her shoulders twitched, along with one corner of her mouth.
Indeed, Triska will be made to stand in the corner for a long, long time to come.
"Come." She held out her hand to Triska and moved aside, so she no longer straddled her. "You have shamed yourself, but we are the only ones who know of this and we will never speak of it again."
Triska sat up, scooting backwards away from Ceera. She lifted her hand, then hesitated. Fire sparked in her eyes. Like a snake, she spat in Ceera's face.
"Bad!" Emrillian shrieked, and tried to leap from her father's arms.
"From a child's lips," Ceera said, her voice ragged and chill. She wiped the spittle from her face as Triska scrambled to her feet. "You have been warned and warned again. Your brother has warned you. Master Breylon has warned you. There are many who have proven themselves far more worthy."
"You can't!" Triska started to lunge forward, hands reaching for Ceera's arms--or was it her neck? But she stopped herself after only two steps. Her fury-darkened cheeks paled.
"I can. And I will. And I have done so. From this moment, I have no heir." Ceera's last seven words rang like chimes and her words echoed audibly through the Stronghold.
Triska let out a shriek like an enraged falcon at hunt, about to shred its prey. Mrillis yanked hard with his mind, pulling a dozen Threads around her, enfolding her, much as Endor had done long before. Triska struggled and mouthed curses, but her voice was silenced.
"Mama, are you going to spank her?" Emrillian whispered, her eyes wide with awe.
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