by Dima Zales
As he was speaking, Blaise scribbled the rough coordinates of where Ganir was standing on a card and added some code before loading the card into the Interpreter Stone. Then he jumped back a few feet, making sure that he wouldn’t be in the radius of the spell.
The spell he unleashed was designed to paralyze his victim mentally—to blast the mind with indecision, fear, shock, and various effects of sleep deprivation. It was far worse than the physical paralysis spell Blaise had used earlier, since this one was an amalgamation of multiple attacks on the mind all rolled into one.
Then he waited.
All seemed quiet. To check if the mental attack worked, Blaise prepared another spell and directed it at the entryway wall, making it as transparent as glass.
Now Blaise could see outside, and he saw Ganir standing there, looking directly at Blaise through the now-see-through wall. It was obvious the old man was unaffected by the spell, but he appeared to be alone. His dark brown chaise stood next to him.
Despite his disappointment, Blaise felt a wave of relief. It didn’t seem like this was a Council ambush; they wouldn’t have sent the Council Leader just by himself.
“You insult me if you think your spells had any chance of success,” Ganir said calmly, his voice still penetrating the walls of the house with ease. In his hands was an Interpreter Stone. He could’ve struck at Blaise with a deadly spell of his own at any time, but he had apparently chosen not to.
Some of his anger fading, Blaise opened the door. “What do you want, Ganir?” he asked wearily, beginning to tire of this confrontation.
“I spoke to Augusta,” Ganir said, looking at him. “The Council does not know of your creation.”
“Why not?” Blaise was genuinely surprised.
“Because I convinced her not to tell them for now. There is still a window of opportunity to untangle this mess. Augusta will go to them eventually. I made sure she did not do so yet, but she is scared of what you have done, scared beyond reason.”
Blaise felt like he could breathe again. The Council didn’t know about Gala. It was only Ganir and Augusta—which was bad enough, but not nearly the disaster it would’ve been if the entire Council got involved. Still, that didn’t mean he had any intention of being civil to Ganir.
“How exactly are you planning to untangle this mess?” he asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “The same way you did with Louie?”
He could see that his words stung. Ganir flinched, his hand instinctively reaching for the pouch hanging at his waist before dropping to his side. Blaise made a mental note of that pouch—it was likely where the old sorcerer kept his spell cards. Letting the door frame block Ganir’s line of sight, he surreptitiously scribbled a quick spell on one of his own cards and prepared to use it at an opportune moment.
In the meantime, Ganir took a step forward. “Blaise,” he said softly, “your brother was quite open about his crime. Even I could not hide what he had done from the Council. I tried my best to guide the Council toward a lenient resolution, but they would not listen—and your brother’s stubbornness and refusal to even pretend at remorse did not help matters.”
Blaise stared at Ganir, remembering the passionate speech Louie had made in front of the Council about the injustices in their society—a speech that had probably sealed his fate. Blaise had agreed with every word his brother had spoken, but even he had thought it unwise to antagonize the other sorcerers so openly. Ultimately, though, the vote was what mattered—and Ganir had voted in favor of Louie’s execution.
“Don’t lie to me,” Blaise said harshly. “You know as well as I do that you’re no different from them, that you all voted the same way. And you expect me to believe that you tried to speak on Louie’s behalf?”
Ganir looked stunned. “What? I voted against Louie’s death. How could you think otherwise?”
Blaise let out a short, hard laugh. “Oh, is that right? You think you can hide behind the fact that all votes are anonymous and nobody knows the exact count? Well, I learned the truth—I know the breakdown of the voting results. There was only one vote against Louie’s death, and it was my own. All of you—you, Augusta, every single person on that Council—voted for my brother’s execution.”
“That’s not true.” Ganir still appeared shocked. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but your methods must be flawed. I voted against Louie’s death, I swear to you. He was like a son to me, just like you were. And Dania voted the same way—against the punishment.”
He sounded so earnest that Blaise doubted himself for a moment. Could his source have lied? If so, why? Blaise couldn’t think of a reason—which meant that Ganir had to be lying to him now. “Why don’t you just admit it, like she did?” he asked scornfully, remembering how Augusta had been unable to conceal the truth of her betrayal from him. Just thinking about it made him want to kill Ganir on the spot.
“Are you talking about Augusta?” Ganir asked in confusion. “Are you saying she voted for Louie’s execution?”
“Of course she did.” Blaise’s upper lip curled. “And so did you.”
“No, I didn’t,” the Council Leader insisted, frowning. “And I didn’t know about her vote. I had always assumed she supported you and Louie. Is that why the two of you parted, because you found out about the way she voted?”
Blaise felt the old memories bubbling to the surface, poisoning his mind with bitter hatred again. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t go there, Ganir, or I swear, I will kill you on the spot.”
The old sorcerer ignored Blaise’s threat. “I have to say, that’s low, even for her,” Ganir mused, “though now that I think about it, it makes sense. You know Augusta’s family is from the old nobility. She was raised on stories of the Revolution, and any possibility of societal change terrifies her. She acted out of fear, not reason, when she cast her vote, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she regrets her actions.” Pausing for a second, he added, “You were not the only one suffering after your brother’s death, my son.”
Blaise looked at Ganir, wondering if there could possibly be any truth to what the old man was saying. If so, then his hatred for the Council Leader had been misplaced this whole time.
“Is that why you vowed to kill me?” Ganir asked, echoing his thoughts. “Because you thought I voted in favor of Louie’s execution? I was sure you hated me because I failed to protect your brother—because, even though I was the head of the Council, I couldn’t save him.”
Blaise was almost tempted to believe him. Almost. “You’re an expert when it comes to getting people to do what you want them to do, Ganir,” he said wearily. “If you had truly wanted to save Louie, he would still be alive. If nothing else, you and I could’ve joined forces and fought the others. But you didn’t even try—so don’t lie to me now.”
Ganir looked pained. “Blaise, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t go against the rest of the Council at that point—not when it was my invention that was at the heart of the issue. I tried to convince them to be lenient, I truly did, and I got the impression that most of them would vote as I did—against the punishment. I was as shocked as you when the verdict came through—”
“Stop,” Blaise snapped, losing his patience. “Just stop. Why are you here?”
“I have an offer,” Ganir said, finally getting to the point. “Bring your creation to me, and I will do my best to make sure she is unharmed. I can almost guarantee you will be cleared of any wrongdoing; after all, your spell did not go as planned. Although you intended to do something they disapprove of, you have not succeeded, and that will convince the Council that no crime occurred.” His eyes gleamed with unusual excitement. “In fact, I can even help you regain your rightful place on the Council.”
Blaise laughed sardonically. “Oh, I see,” he said, chuckling at the old man’s transparent intent. “You want Gala for your own purposes. And as for me, does the almighty Ganir need another ally on the Council?”
“I am trying
to help you.” Ganir was beginning to look frustrated. “Yes, I do find your creation fascinating and would like to learn more about her, but that’s not what this is all about. The Council needs you right now—far more than any of those stubborn fools realize. I need you. Blaise, please, give up Gala and come back.”
Blaise couldn’t believe his ears. Give up Gala? It was unthinkable. “The answer is no,” he said coldly, reaching for the spell card he had prepared when he’d noticed Ganir’s pouch. It was already next to the Stone he was holding in his other hand, and he swiftly joined the two objects, activating the spell.
A second later, Ganir’s pouch went up in flames, leaving the old sorcerer without ready-made spells and nearly defenseless.
“Leave, old man,” Blaise told Ganir, watching with satisfaction as his opponent threw remnants of the burning pouch on the ground. “I can kill you now, and I will. You have two minutes to get out of my sight.”
The sorcerer’s pale eyes filled with sadness. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said with quiet dignity. Shuffling over to his chaise, he rose into the air and flew away, leaving Blaise puzzled and disturbed.
Chapter 33: Barson
Walking into his sister’s house, Barson inhaled the familiar aroma of baking bread and scented candles. It smelled like home, reminding him of when their mother would bake delicious rolls for the entire household. Unlike most other sorcerers, their mother enjoyed working with her hands—something that Dara had inherited from her, along with her aptitude for sorcery.
“Barson! I’m so glad you came by.” Standing at the top of the staircase, his sister gave him a radiant smile before hurrying down toward him.
Barson smiled back, genuinely happy to see her. He missed Dara, though he couldn’t fault her for preferring this comfortable townhouse over cramped quarters back at the Tower. Low-ranking sorcerers received terrible accommodations there, and many of them chose to live outside of the Tower most of the time.
“It’s good to see you, Dara,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Is Larn here also?”
“He should be here soon. He’s passing by the well right now,” she said, grinning up at him mischievously. Her dark eyes were sparkling, making her look extraordinarily pretty.
Barson sighed, knowing what she was up to. “Did you put a Locator spell on him again?”
Dara’s grin widened. “I did indeed. But don’t tell him; it’ll be our secret.”
Amused, Barson shook his head. His sister and his right-hand man had been together for the past two years, and she drove Larn insane with her insistence on using spells in everyday life. For Dara, it was a way to practice sorcery and sharpen her skills, while Larn viewed it as showing off. “All right,” Barson promised, “I won’t.”
“Come,” Dara said, tugging at his arm. “Let me feed you. I bet you’re starved. That sorceress of yours doesn’t cook, I presume?”
“Augusta? No, of course not.” The very idea struck Barson as ridiculous. Augusta was . . . well, Augusta. She was many things, but homemaker was not one of them.
“That’s what I assumed,” Dara huffed. “She does know you need to eat, right?”
“I’m not sure,” Barson admitted, taking a seat at the table. “Most sorcerers—unlike you—rarely think about food or consider that others might need it.”
“Well, I hope she’s good in bed then,” Dara muttered, putting a bread basket and sliced cheese in front of him. “That and some spells is all she seems to be good for.”
Barson burst out laughing. His sister was jealous of Augusta’s position on the Council and was doing a terrible job of hiding it. “I’m not about to discuss my love life with you, sis,” he said after a few seconds, still chuckling.
She sniffed disdainfully, but kept quiet until Barson had a chance to eat some bread with cheese. “So guess what?” she said after Barson ate his second slice. “I was offered a chance to work with Jandison today.”
“Jandison?” Barson frowned. The oldest member of the Council was known for his teleportation skills and not much else. It was not exactly the most promising opportunity for Dara, given her ambitions.
“I know,” she said, understanding his unspoken concern. “But it’s still better than what I do now.”
“Do you think Ganir put him up to it?”
Dara shook her head. “I doubt it. I get the sense Jandison doesn’t like Ganir very much.”
“Oh?” Barson was surprised. He was well-versed in Council politics, but he hadn’t heard of any enmity between the two sorcerers. “What makes you think that?”
“A woman’s intuition, I guess,” Dara said. “It’s just a vibe I got from him when he mentioned Ganir’s name to me once. When I thought about it later, it actually made a lot of sense. Jandison is the oldest sorcerer on the Council, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks he should be the Council Leader instead of Ganir.”
Barson gave his sister a thoughtful look. “You know, you may be right. Are you going to accept Jandison’s offer?”
“I think so.” She smiled. “And yes, I will definitely keep my eyes and ears open.”
At that moment, Larn walked into the kitchen, and Barson got up to greet him.
When Barson had first learned of his best friend’s involvement with Dara, he had been less than pleased. For one thing, being with a non-sorcerer was looked down upon in the Tower, and Barson had been concerned that her relationship with Larn might be detrimental to Dara’s desire to be recognized for her sorcery talent. However, he could see that Larn genuinely loved her, and that ultimately proved to be the most important thing of all. That, and the fact that Larn was one of the few men Barson was not tempted to kill immediately for laying a finger on his older sister.
“So tell me,” Barson said to Larn when the three of them sat down at the table, “do you have any news for me?”
Larn nodded, chewing on a piece of bread. “There has been a lot of activity with Ganir recently. Augusta visited his chambers again, and so did a number of commoners.”
“Commoners? Why?” Barson looked at his friend in surprise.
“We don’t know. Ganir’s spies spirited them out of the Tower before we could learn their identities. They were literally brought in to see Ganir and then were taken away immediately. My man only got a quick look at them.”
“Anything else?”
“We got a report from our source who’s watching Blaise’s house.”
Barson’s hands curled into fists underneath the table. “Did Augusta visit him again?”
Dara shot him a curious look and opened her mouth, but Larn reached over and squeezed her hand in gentle warning. “No,” he said. “It was even stranger than that. It was Ganir.”
“Ganir visited Blaise?” Barson’s temper cooled immeasurably. “I thought they weren’t on speaking terms.”
“Blaise is not on speaking terms with anyone these days,” Dara said. “Once he left the Council, it’s like he disappeared. Why would anyone visit him now?”
“Was our ally able to figure out what Ganir wanted?” Barson asked.
“No,” Larn replied. “He’s petrified of Ganir. They all are. As soon as he saw the old sorcerer arrive, he got out of there as quickly as his chaise could carry him.”
Barson’s lip curled. “Those sorcerers are such cowards. No offense, Dara.”
“None taken.” She grinned. “I fully agree with you, in fact. I would’ve definitely stuck around to learn as much as I could. By the way, speaking of sorcery, I finished working on your armor. It should now be resistant to most of the common spells.”
“Thank you, sis.” Barson smiled at her. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” she said without false modesty. “And soon they will know it, too.”
“Yes, they will,” Barson promised her, and for the next few minutes, they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the meal Dara had prepared for them.
When his stomach was comfortably full, Barson looked up at h
is friend again. “Any news from outside Turingrad? Any more uprisings anywhere?”
“No,” Larn said, “everything seems quiet for now. There’s just one thing, which is probably nothing.”
“What is it?” Barson asked.
“There have been some curious rumors about a powerful sorceress.” Larn paused to pour himself some ale. “Apparently, she’s beautiful, young, and wise beyond her years . . . They say she heals the sick, brings dead children back to life, and can even make the crops prosper wherever she is.”
Dara laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Bringing back the dead is impossible, even in theory.”
“The common people always make up stories that cast sorcerers in this kind of light,” Barson told her. “They want to believe the elite cares about them, that their overlords simply don’t know they’re suffering.”
Larn snorted. “And I’m sure many of them don’t—because they just don’t care.”
Barson shook his head, thinking about the gullibility of the common people. The peasants had been conditioned to think that the old nobility had been bad, while their new sorcerer masters were an improvement. Of course, with this drought, many of them were starting to see the truth—hence the increasing uprisings throughout Koldun.
Remembering the last rebellion he’d been forced to quell made Barson’s thoughts turn back to Ganir. Why had he met with Blaise? Could it somehow be connected with Augusta’s visit to her former lover? And what about all those commoners coming to the Tower?
Ganir was obviously playing a deep game, and Barson intended to get to the bottom of it.
Chapter 34: Augusta
Approaching Ganir’s chambers, Augusta knocked decisively on his door. The old man had been avoiding her for the past couple of days, even going so far as to ignore her Contact messages, and she wasn’t about to allow this.
By the time the door swung open, Augusta’s temper was reaching a boiling point. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she entered Ganir’s chambers.