“What is it?”
“There’s a trap set here.”
“Magical?”
“Yep.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Of course. Hang on one minute.”
Closer to five passed before Jemeryl took Tevi’s hand and guided her on. At the end of the carts was a narrow gap, and then Tevi’s elbow brushed against the round sides of stacked barrels. A tug from Jemeryl drew her right, left, and right again, past the huge wheels of more wagons.
“You need to duck,” Jemeryl whispered.
“Another trap?”
“No. You’re about to walk into the shaft.”
Tevi reached out with her free hand and felt the wooden pole at nose height. She dipped under it. Jemeryl had once explained that her sorcerer senses did not allow her see in the dark, but if she concentrated, she could spot where things were. Tevi assumed there was a difference.
Twice more they stopped for Jemeryl to disable traps. This was clearly a region where the ungifted where not supposed to be wandering. At last, Jemeryl pulled her down into a crouch, between a final huge set of wheels at the end of a wagon. Tevi looked up. Blocking out the stars above her, like a gallows, was the towering frame of a trebuchet.
In front was a clear strip of trampled grass, twenty feet or more in width. The weak rays from the rising moon shed just enough light for Tevi to make out the rear of the pavilion at the other side. She was about to whisper a question in Jemeryl’s ear when she heard the sound of footsteps. Three witches strolled into view. The one in the centre was carrying an oil-soaked torch.
She yawned loudly. “I think I could do with a dose of sleepstop.”
“I’d rather have brandy.”
“I’d rather be back in my bed.”
“Alone?”
“To be honest, I’m too tired to care. Just as long as they don’t steal all the blankets.”
“War is hell.” The other two laughed at the dry tone.
“Especially when your leader has lost his marbles.”
The laughter stopped.
“I mean, hypothetically speaking.” The speaker backtracked on his words.
“Yeah, right.”
The three witches had now passed the point where Tevi and Jemeryl were hidden. Tevi was just starting to relax when one of them stopped and looked back. For a moment it seemed as if he was staring directly at her, but then he wiped a hand over his face.
“Dammit, I’m tired.”
“We all are.”
One of his colleagues looped an arm through his and towed him away. The witch went, unresisting.
Tevi looked at Jemeryl. The sorcerer had her hands up in a warding gesture. Only when the witches had passed from view did she lower her arms.
“That was close,” Tevi said.
“Very.”
“Now we cut our way into the tent?”
“Yes. And hope that plan number one works. Because I’m not so keen on either two or three.”
Jemeryl darted across the grass, beckoning for Tevi to follow. The material of the pavilion shimmered like silk, even in the weak light. Jemeryl ran her hand over it and then drew her knife from her belt sheath. While she carefully unpicked a seam, Tevi knelt by her side, anxiously looking out for the return of the witches. Were they sentries walking a patrol, or just incidental passers-by? Would they be back?
The cutting of the row of stitches, one by one, progressed with agonising slowness, but Tevi trusted that Jemeryl had her reasons for not simply slicing the material. Presumably, magic had been woven into the fabric. Minutes trickled by before the gap was big enough to crawl though. Jemeryl went first. Tevi followed, after one final look back for the patrolling witches.
The rear of the pavilion had been divided into separate sections by hanging drapes. The space they entered was being used for storage. Several small crates were stacked to one side. A saddlebag had been dumped in a corner, and a mound of clothing was heaped in the centre. Through a gap in the curtain, Tevi could see into the central region of the tent where glowing iron braziers gave off both heat and light.
Jemeryl moved forwards slowly, placing each foot with care. At the opening, she stopped for a long time, studying the space beyond before she slipped through. Tevi made to follow, but an upheld hand caused her to freeze. Jemeryl shook her head sharply. Their eyes met in a silent argument. Tevi clenched her jaw but then nodded.
The likelihood was high that Mavek would have set traps and alarms. Tevi knew that she could do nothing except trigger them. This was a task that Jemeryl must tackle alone, but she could keep watch—for what good it might do.
The dull light from the braziers cast a red glow over the carpets and cushions on the floor and the tray bearing the half-eaten remains of a meal. A heavy curtain hung over the entrance. The bonfire outside threw huge shadows of the army officers over the front of the pavilion. Tevi’s attention switched between the moving images and Jemeryl.
Step by step, the sorcerer advanced across the pavilion, avoiding some spots and stopping to weave patterns in the air at others. Tevi could feel her heart pounding as she watched. From outside the tent came the crackle of the bonfire and the murmured conversation of witches. The only other sound was the wind rippling over the roof of the pavilion.
By the central support post, Jemeryl halted and looked around. Her gaze fixed on some drapes partitioning off another section of the large tent. She looked back to Tevi and nodded slowly and with meaning. Mavek was there.
Jemeryl continued her stealthy progress. She was almost within six feet of the section when the curtain hanging over the entrance to the pavilion was pulled back and Ranenok appeared.
For a moment, everyone was frozen in shock, and then Ranenok drew breath.
Tevi leapt forwards. “Wait, listen.”
Ranenok paid no attention. “Help! Intruders! To me!”
Shouts erupted in the night. The clamour was drowned out by the sudden roar of flame. Jemeryl had hurled a web of fire at the concealing drapes. From somewhere nearby Mavek’s voice rose in a strangled scream, but the cry was of fear and surprise, not pain.
Burning tatters of material fell to the floor, revealing the blacksmith rising from his bed. And before him was a glowing blue screen. The chances had never been good that he would have gone to sleep unprotected. When he saw Jemeryl, his expression changed to one of raw, hysterical panic.
More officers burst in through the entrance behind Ranenok. Tevi was sure that Jemeryl would be able to break through Mavek’s shield, but she would need time. Tevi doubted that she would be able to buy more than a second or two, but maybe it would be enough. She drew her sword and charged forwards.
Ranenok turned to face her. His eyes held a look of regret, even as he raised his hand. Tevi saw the cartwheel of sparks stream towards her. They hit, and then there was only blackness.
*
Tevi came back to consciousness with a burning ache in her joints. Her face was pressed into the rough floor carpet and all she could see were boots moving back and forth in front of her eyes. Her arms were bent behind her—tied, she realised, when she tried to move them. Voices murmured in disjointed sentences.
Shouts reverberated in the distance, and then the sound of pounding footsteps became louder. Someone burst into the pavilion. “She’s got away, sir.”
Tevi’s head cleared a little. Were they referring to Jemeryl?
“Where did she go?” The voice Tevi recognised as belonging to Dunarth.
“It doesn’t matter.” This time it was Mavek who spoke. “She won’t go far.”
“You hope.”
“I know. Because she’s going to want to talk to me.”
A hand grabbed Tevi’s hair and hauled her to her knees, and then wrenched her neck back. She was staring directly up into Mavek’s face. The blacksmith’s eyes still showed the fading traces of his fear. A tic jumped in his cheek, but his lips were set in a twisted leer as he studied her.
“We ha
ve a bargaining chip that Jemeryl won’t be able to ignore.”
*
Jemeryl sat alone in the room with her head clasped in her hands, trying to fight back her despair. Assassinating Mavek had always been a long shot. Everything would have been so much simpler and less fraught had it worked, but she had to remain positive. Their plans were not totally in ruins, even though Tevi had been captured.
The most hopeful sign was that, although dawn was long past, Mavek’s troops had not yet attacked. If Tevi was right about the limited supplies of the drug, this could only mean that Mavek had another scheme in mind. The most likely candidate for this new plan was some sort of negotiation involving Tevi, which had to mean that she was alive and in a fit state to be traded.
The next move was therefore up to Mavek. Jemeryl fought to remind herself that every hour of delay would be working to her advantage, but the waiting was torturous. Even so, the knock at the door was unwelcome. Regardless of how things went, the next few hours were unlikely to be pleasant, and the person wanting to see her might only be Captain Curnad ready to repeat the appeals for information that she had no intention of granting.
Jemeryl braced herself for the worst and called out, “Enter.”
The face that appeared around the door did not belong to Curnad, nor to anyone else she knew. Had the captain and other witches abandoned her? Not that it mattered.
“Ma’am. An envoy from the enemy is here to see you.”
Listlessly, Jemeryl signalled for the messenger to be shown in.
A few moments later the door opened again for the deputy blacksmith, Cluthotin, who looked no happier or less nervous than the last time they had met.
The two of them stared at each other in silence for a while and then Cluthotin cleared his throat. “Jemeryl. The Emperor Mavek wishes to speak with you in person and asks that you accompany me to see him.” He looked at her significantly. “He promises that you will not be harmed.”
The request was pretty much what she had been expecting. Jemeryl merely nodded and stood. The waiting was over. Now it was time to see how the game would play out.
The streets of Uzhenek were crowded but quieter than Jemeryl had ever heard them before, making the wailing of infants all the more noticeable. The adults gathered in small groups, heads together, muttering, or sat alone in doorways, huddled in sullen despair. Their faces held anger, bewilderment, and fear. Jemeryl knew that tales of the failed sortie had spread through the town. Her own blazing retreat had ensured that it could not be kept secret. Were the rumours also now spreading that the Dragon Slayer was captured, or dead?
Jemeryl looked at the squalid, rotting huts and mud-filled roads, the people dressed in rags and the half-naked children. Tevi was right. These people had so little, it was not fair if even this should be taken from them. The attempt to assassinate Mavek had been made on their behalf, to limit the risk of an all-out attack. Jemeryl thought about the gnawing of her own bad conscience. No matter how things went, Jemeryl understood why Tevi had been willing to take the risks she had, and respected her decision.
Cluthotin led the way to the side of town nearest the escarpment. When she emerged from between the last of the huts, Jemeryl could see that the valley rim was lined with a hundred or more people. These would undoubtedly be the massed witches and acolytes, Mavek’s insurance that she would not use the opportunity for another assassination attempt. However, Mavek must be very certain that he had her in his grasp. He had to be sure that she would not try to explain to everyone assembled just how Bykoda’s death had taken place and what was really going on.
Mavek’s standard flew in the middle of the line, at a point where a slight projection from the lip of the escarpment made a natural platform. As she grew closer to the spot, Jemeryl easily identified the tall form of the blacksmith in a regal stance, flanked by three of the other acolytes. Anid was not one of them, she noted.
At Cluthotin’s indication, Jemeryl stopped fifty yards below where Mavek stood. Close enough to see and hear, but not close enough to hope that a surprise attack might get through—not when the witches and acolytes were alert and ready to come to his defence. Jemeryl’s escort backed away a few steps, leaving her alone.
She struck her own pose, hands on hips and head thrown back. “You wanted to talk.”
Mavek took a half-step forwards. “No. I wanted you to surrender.”
“You’ve already made the suggestion once. In case you’ve forgotten, I refused.”
“I think you’re the one with the bad memory. Have you so soon forgotten what happened last night?”
Mavek turned and gestured to the witches standing behind him. On cue, Tevi was dragged forwards and thrown to her knees beside him. Despite the circumstances, Jemeryl felt her heart leap to see her lover, alive and whole. Their eyes met across the distance, and momentarily the rest of the scene faded from her thoughts. Jemeryl took a breath. It was all going to work out all right. It had to. She looked back to Mavek.
“I hadn’t forgotten. But in order for a threat to be effective, what happens when you refuse has to be worse than what happens when you give in. Tevi’s life is far more at risk if I surrender.”
“It’s a debatable point. But even if it were true, there are lots of different ways to die.”
Mavek gave another signal. This time, Dunarth stepped up to stand behind Tevi. She placed her hands on either side of the kneeling woman’s head. For an instant, Tevi froze, and then her body bucked. A scream was torn from her throat.
“Stop that!” Jemeryl shouted. Regardless of the forces gathered above her, she could not prevent herself from reacting. Her hands moved, summoning the elements.
All along the line of witches, there was an immediate response, arms and staffs at the ready. Jemeryl froze. The battle would be hopeless, and no matter what else, Mavek would surely not allow Tevi to die right now. She forced her hands back to her side.
For another minute, Tevi’s screams rang out over the valley. Each one ripped through Jemeryl—more potent than any injury inflicted on herself. And then, at last, Dunarth released her grip and stepped back. Tevi collapsed to the ground in a ball, shuddering convulsively. Jemeryl’s eyes could not pull away from the sight. Her stomach felt as if it held needles of ice, while the remainder of her insides had turned to water. Her knees shook, threatening to give way.
“Jemeryl!” Mavek’s shout barely reclaimed her attention. “Do you want to think again about surrendering?”
In all her planning and calculating, Jemeryl had not expected to be quite so completely overwhelmed by impotent fury. Controlling her breath enough to reply was beyond her. Jemeryl was aware that Cluthotin had returned to her side. Slowly, she turned her head towards him. The witch was holding out an iron collar. Jemeryl’s gaze travelled up to Mavek, then on to Tevi’s crumpled form, and finally back again to Cluthotin.
Wordlessly, Jemeryl took the collar from his hand, lifted it up, and snapped it shut around her own neck.
*
The inside of Mavek’s pavilion showed evidence of clearing up after the previous night’s battle. Somebody had hastily patched the gash in the wall that Jemeryl had created during her escape and removed the damaged braziers. The floor had been swept clean, removing any scraps of burnt cloth, although the scorch marks were still there.
Jemeryl squinted at her surroundings through half-shut eyes—not that it helped. Her eyes were not the problem. The energy tensors of the sixth dimension streamed through the iron collar. They covered her head in a chaotic vortex of power that blinded her to anything beyond. The auras of the fifth dimension were shifting and untouchable, like shadows falling on water. Time was linear, locked, and unbranching.
She felt so vulnerable, worse than ungifted. Her sorcerer’s senses were now a liability, not an asset. In an attempt to stave off the panic, she concentrated on her ordinary senses. Tevi coped with just four dimensions under her control. She could do the same. She had to. The impending conversation with Mave
k was too critical to make a mistake, and she had mere seconds to compose herself while he ordered his followers to leave.
Mavek waited until Jemeryl and he were alone before speaking. He smiled at her in triumph. “It’s time for you to give me the talisman.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re not in any position to refuse.”
“I don’t mean I won’t. I mean I can’t. I don’t have the talisman to give you.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. Last night, before we left Uzhenek on the way to your camp, I dispatched the talisman to Lyremouth with my familiar. You remember, Klara the magpie? We knew that the attempt to kill you was not certain to succeed, so we wanted the talisman safely away from here. Of course, if the attempt had succeeded, I would have called her back before she had gone too far.”
Mavek grabbed Jemeryl’s shoulders. His fingers dug painfully into her joints. “You’re lying.”
Jemeryl shook her head in answer.
“Call it back, now.”
Jemeryl jerked her jaw upwards to emphasise the iron collar around her neck. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t with this on.”
“It’s all a trick to get me to take the collar off.”
“No.”
“Well, I know how to check.” He stalked to the entrance of the pavilion and called to the people outside. “Bring the other prisoner here at once.”
“There’s no point in hurting her,” Jemeryl said quickly.
“I won’t...much.”
A minute passed before the curtain opened and Tevi was brought in by two witches. Her eyes were still glazed from the punishment she had received at Dunarth’s hands and her feet stumbled. She seemed oblivious to where she was. Jemeryl felt her stomach clench at the sight. Mavek gestured for the witches to leave. With them gone, he then advanced towards the bound prisoner.
“Please,” Jemeryl begged. She could not bear to see Tevi hurt more.
The Empress and the Acolyte Page 30