“We’ll see them again, I’m sure,” she said, gently. “You can take care of them …”
“If they’re still alive,” Johan said, quietly. “What if Deferens has killed them?”
Dread cleared his throat. “The guards said we could stay in the city for five days, but we’d have to leave after that unless we register and pay a tax,” he said. “Where do you want to go from here?”
Johan frowned. “The Jumping Jody,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “That’s the name we were given back in Knawel Haldane.”
Elaine smiled. “They do seem to like using inns as bases, don’t they?”
“Practical,” Dread grunted. As an Inquisitor, it had been his job to hunt the Levellers down; now, the Levellers were about the only people who could help. “Inns are good places to hear the latest news, while no one is surprised when guests pack their bags and leave in the middle of the night. And we can probably change our horses there too.”
“Good,” Elaine said. The horse under her shivered, as if it knew she was looking forward to getting off. “Did they buy the story?”
“Didn’t question it very much,” Dread said, as he swung the horse around. “You’re clearly a magician, while there aren’t enough of us to cause real trouble. They’re not likely to question us as long as we don’t attract too much attention.”
He cantered down a cobbled road that was badly stained. Elaine followed, allowing Johan and Daria to bring up the rear. Falcone’s Nest was crowded, but there was an undertone of fear in the air that worried her, even though she knew the cause. A herald was caterwauling in the square as they passed, telling everyone within earshot that five men and two women were in the stocks for spreading false rumours. Elaine caught sight of the prisoners and winced in sympathy – the crowd was already gathering to throw rotten fruits and vegetables at the unlucky prisoners – but she knew there was nothing she could do. Besides, it was quite possible they deserved their punishment.
Let’s hope they don’t start throwing stones, she thought, shivering. The orphanage staff had taken the children to watch prisoners in the stocks once or twice, just to make sure they knew what fate awaited anyone who ran afoul of the law. Some of the crowd had pelted a false witness with stones, breaking his nose and leaving blood spilling into the streets. It would kill the poor bastards.
Johan slipped up beside her. “We could break them free at night …”
“And then get caught ourselves,” Elaine said. She shook her head. “Bad idea, I think.”
She sucked in her breath as the Jumping Jody came into view. It was a large wooden building, carefully structured to pack as many people as possible inside; behind it, she could see a cookhouse with signs advertising food from all over the world. A handful of dogs sat outside, their tongues lolling out of their mouths. She guessed, as Dread dismounted and helped her down to the ground, that their owners were inside the inn.
“Wait here,” Dread ordered curtly. “I’ll go speak to the innkeeper.”
He turned and strode inside. Anyone who looked at him, Elaine was sure, would know him for a dangerous man, although they’d never see him as an Inquisitor. Dread could simply have commandeered everything they needed, if his skull-ring had still worked for him. But it didn’t, forcing them to buy what they needed. She had a nasty feeling that they would run out of money, sooner or later.
Johan dropped down beside her, holding the horse’s reins in one hand. “You think the beds will be comfortable?”
Elaine shrugged. She hadn’t stayed in many inns and only one of them, as far as she could recall, had been reasonably comfortable. The others had had itchy bedding, cold water and insects scuttling across the floor when she’d doused the lamp. There was no reason to expect anything better from the Jumping Jody. The dogs started to bark in unison and she looked up, sharply. A man with faintly canine features was walking past them, his eyes fixed firmly on Daria.
“We’re further up the river,” he said, so quietly that Elaine had to strain her ears to hear his words. Daria’s ears, sharper than any normal human, would have no trouble. “Come see us, sister.”
He walked on, leaving Elaine staring after him. Daria showed no visible reaction, but sniffed once or twice, as if she was testing the man’s scent. Dread reappeared and led them into the inn, tapping his lips gently when Elaine made to speak. Walls had ears, even when the innkeepers weren’t magical. She gritted her teeth as she smelt beer in the air, then averted her eyes as she saw dozens of men quaffing down ale as though it was on the verge of running out. Two fights were taking place, the fighters surrounded by several other men who were placing bets on the outcome; a handful of women, wearing beer-stained aprons, were quietly collecting used glasses and placing them back on the bar for reuse. It didn’t look as though they were being washed first.
“I ordered a single large room, in keeping with our cover story,” Dread said, shortly. He stopped outside a door, opening it with an iron key. “There should be enough room for all of us.”
Elaine sensed a flicker of mixed emotions from Johan as they stepped into the room and glanced around. It wasn’t particularly clean, although Elaine had been expecting worse; a pair of beds, a handful of lamps and a window allowing them to look out onto the streets below. She glanced through a paper-thin wooden door and saw a tiny bathroom, complete with bucket, iron bath and pump. Clearly, the fad for indoor plumbing hadn’t reached Falcone’s Nest yet. Even the orphanage in the Golden City had had hot and cold running water, as well as real toilets. She hastily cast another spell to hide the worst of the stench, then slipped back into the bedroom.
“Elaine and Daria will get the beds,” Dread said, as he locked the door. “I …”
He stopped, grimly. “Elaine, can you ward the rooms?”
Elaine nodded, drawing her wand and casting a handful of spells of her own design. Most of them were breakable – most magicians outshone her as the sun outshone the moon – but their true strength lay in the fact they were almost impossible to perceive, except at very close range. A magician who tried to spy on them from a distance would find it very difficult … and if the wards started to fail, Elaine would know about it at once.
And Dread would have done it for himself, once, she thought, bitterly. Now … now, he can’t.
“I’ll share a bed with Daria,” she said, as her friend snapped back into her human form. The men hastily averted their eyes as Elaine passed Daria her robe. “You two can have the other bed.”
“I’ll be taking the first watch,” Dread said, gruffly. He didn’t sound as though the loss of his magic was working on him, but she knew it had to be affecting him badly. “You three get some sleep, if you need it.”
“I need a bath,” Elaine said. She could heat the water using magic, if she tried. “Do you have a plan for contacting the Levellers?”
“We have code phrases,” Johan reminded her. He turned to look out of the window. “They don’t know, do they?”
“They know something,” Dread grunted. “That’s another reason to go for a wander, once we’ve had a rest. We need to know what they know.”
Elaine looked at him. “Could they do anything if they did know?”
“I don’t know,” Dread admitted. He didn’t sound as though he believed his own words. Vlad Deferens had dragons, hundreds of magicians and an entire army. Falcone’s Nest had nothing more than a handful of magicians and the City Guard. “But at least they can try.”
Chapter Three
The guards outside the Emperor’s tent bowed to Charity as she approached, then allowed her to step through without searching her. It wasn’t a sign of respect, Charity knew; it was a sign of contempt, a reminder that she literally couldn’t pose any threat to her master even though she was carrying a wand and a charmed knife. She pushed the tent flap aside, then stepped into the chamber and hastily prostrated herself while waiting for the Emperor to notice her. She’d learnt the hard way that Emperor Vlad didn’t like interruptions.<
br />
“There are riots in the Western Hills,” General Vetch was saying. He glanced briefly at her, then looked back at the Emperor, dismissing Charity as unimportant. “And the citizens in Rising Shadow have overthrown their king and declared independence.”
“It isn’t an important matter,” the Emperor said, curtly. He was looking down at a map on the table, as if he wasn’t quite listening to his General. “We can reclaim control of Rising Shadow later, once we hold Ida.”
“Ida isn’t a major state, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch said. He sounded as though he was pleading, expecting the Emperor to listen to him. Charity knew it was futile. The Emperor seemed dangerously obsessed with Ida, almost as obsessed with the tiny state as he was with the Head Librarian. “Rising Shadow controls trade and transport links to a fifth of the continent. If we lose control of the state, we run the risk of losing the other states …”
“I have dragons,” the Emperor snarled. “Are they going to stand against my dragons?”
“Dragons are not invincible, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch reminded him. “They can be beaten …”
“One or two dragons can be beaten,” the Emperor snarled. “I have dozens.”
He rose to his feet. “See that the men are well-rested,” he added, nastily. “I intend to march onwards within two days. We’ll leave a garrison in the city to ensure it behaves itself.”
General Vetch turned and stalked out of the tent. Charity thought, for a chilling moment, that he was about to kick her before he walked onwards. The Emperor glowered after him, one hand flexing in a manner that suggested he was about to cast a spell, then peered down at Charity instead. She hastily pressed her face into the tent floor in absolute submission, hoping he wasn’t feeling sadistic. He’d once left her in that position for hours.
“Rise,” the Emperor growled. He stamped back to his seat and sat down. “Pour me a drink.”
Charity obeyed, feeling a glimmer of sympathy for the maids and servants who’d worked for House Conidian before the fall. The Emperor took the glass she passed him, drank it hastily and slammed it down on the table so hard it cracked. Charity looked at the map, trying not to make it obvious, and frowned inwardly. If the map was correct, Rising Shadow wasn’t the only state intent on breaking free of the Empire. Five more were also about to collapse into chaos.
“The General does not understand the true importance of our work,” the Emperor said, his voice icy cold. Charity had the odd feeling he wasn’t talking to himself, even though the words weren’t aimed at her. “His concerns are purely mundane.”
“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.
“I should send a swarm of dragons to Rising Shadow and burn their capital to the ground,” the Emperor mused. “It would convince them to behave themselves, would it not?”
“Of course, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.
The Emperor’s eyes sharpened, suddenly. “What are you doing here?”
Charity swallowed, then held up the knife. “This belonged to my brother,” she said. “And the link between it and its owner is still alive.”
“Johan?” The Emperor asked. His face twisted with an emotion she didn’t recognise. “He’s here?”
“No, Your Supremacy,” Charity said. “Jamal.”
“How nice,” the Emperor said, after a moment. He took the knife, turned it over and over in his hand, then passed it back to her. “And so?”
“The records say the knife came from a slave warehouse,” Charity said. There was no way to be sure that Jamal was still there – and she had no idea what he was doing in a slave warehouse anyway – but it was a good place to start. “I could go find him. If he’s still alive …”
“You could torment him as he tormented you,” the Emperor sneered. “He’s powerless now, is he not? Why not attempt to make him suffer?”
His face twisted into a leer. “Is that what you want?”
Charity hesitated. She couldn’t lie to him … and yet, she wasn’t sure what she wanted from Jamal. Revenge? She could humiliate him, if the Emperor let her, but at least he would be safe from everyone else. And yet, she knew Jamal didn’t deserve to be safe. If he hadn’t been such an unpleasant bully, would Johan have gone off the deep end too?
“I want him to be safe,” she said, finally. “Having him know his safety is dependent on me will be revenge enough.”
“How like a woman,” the Emperor said. “Very well. You may go find him, if you wish, and bring him here. I will have a use for him.”
“Thank you, Your Supremacy,” Charity said. She looked down at the gauze covering her breasts. “May I change first?”
“I think not,” the Emperor said. He smiled at her, nastily. “But you may use magic to defend yourself against all threats, save for me. Now go.”
Charity turned automatically and walked out of the tent, her legs moving of their own accord. Outside, it was growing darker, but not dark enough to hide the harem outfit. She hesitated, cursing the Emperor in the privacy of her own thoughts, then drew her wand and cast an illusion spell over herself. Most magicians, seeing the glamour, would assume she was hiding a mole or making her clothes appear finer than they were, rather than hiding her body beneath an illusion. She just hoped that no one tried to cancel the spell for a joke. One of the students at the Peerless School had ended up naked after using magic to dress herself in finery, rather than buying them with her own money. Her enemy had cancelled the spell in the middle of class.
She turned and walked through the camp, ignoring the long lines of inductees, slaves and magicians being hauled over to the sacrificial altar. The Emperor hadn’t hesitated to start killing magicians, particularly the weak ones who were of no other use to him. She shuddered as she passed a line of children, their magic not yet awake; they’d be dead long before their magic came to life. The red-robed were watching them carefully, ready to use spells or brute force to keep the children in line. There was no hope of escape.
The remains of the gates, manned by a handful of soldiers, loomed up in front of her. She held up the token the Emperor had given her – it felt like years ago – and they stepped back, allowing her to pass unmolested. Knawel Haldane seemed almost deserted, the handful of people on the streets hidden under hoods as they slipped through the darkness, trying to remain unnoticed by the soldiers. Charity had heard enough to know precisely how the soldiers were treating the civilians, particularly anyone unfortunate enough to be young, female and vulnerable. She clutched her wand tightly as she strode past a tavern, then cursed inwardly as a handful of drunken soldiers staggered towards her. Gritting her teeth, she raised her wand and turned them into snails.
The Emperor may punish me for this, she thought. The spell wouldn’t last long, but there would be ample time for something to happen to the soldiers before it wore off. But he did give me permission to defend myself.
No one else tried to block her way until she reached the slave warehouse. She’d never been to one before, not when her father preferred to enslave servants using his own magic. The faint stench of human waste touched her nose as she tapped on the solid door, wondering if the dealer was still at work. No doubt there was something to be said for the chance to sell slaves to the army …
She shuddered, feeling the cold wafting across her unprotected body. How was she any different from the poor bastards in the underground cages, just waiting for a buyer to take them home?
The door opened, revealing a fat man carrying a wand. He relaxed slightly as he saw her, although his piggy eyes never left her face. It wasn’t a lustful look, more of a wary one; he could sense her magic, she was sure, even though he probably didn’t know who or what she was. A gust of warm air blew out of the building as she stepped inside.
“I carry a message from the Emperor,” she said, as she pulled the knife from her belt. “He wants to find the person who gave you this blade.”
The slaver gave her a surprised look. “You mean Lot #453? He was telling the truth?”
>
Charity frowned. “What did he tell you?”
“That he was a magician and that he was from a powerful family,” the slaver said. His pudgy face started to look nervous as he waved her into an office, then motioned for her to take a seat. “Was he telling the truth?”
“Partly,” Charity said. “Where is he now?”
“In the cells,” the slaver said. “We assumed he’d stolen the knife.”
Charity took a breath. “What happened?”
The slaver stumbled over a long and complex explanation that reminded Charity of studying at the Peerless School, where something that could be said in a dozen words was often stretched into a dozen sentences. She had to resist the temptation to order him to get to the point, fearing it would only make matters worse. Eventually, she figured out that Jamal had fled the Golden City – without ever trying to recover his possessions from House Conidian – and made his way to Knawel Haldane, where he’d started a fight in a bar. Without his magic, he’d been beaten to a pulp and – as he didn’t have the money to pay for the repairs – he’d been sold into slavery. His knife had been taken and kept by the slaver, then handed over to the occupation force when it had arrived.
“And it was a right waste of money,” the slaver concluded. “No one wants him! No one! Not even as a drudge slave! I’ll have to sell him to the mines!”
Charity snickered, despite herself. She had no trouble believing that no one would want Jamal, even as a spellbound slave. The mines would probably have taken him, eventually, and worked him to death. He’d really been quite lucky that his knife had fallen into her hands.
“Bring him here,” she ordered, shortly. “I’ll take him with me when I go.”
The slaver hesitated. “There is the matter of the money I paid for him …”
“The Emperor wants him,” Charity said, cutting him off. “And seeing you’re here, without being conscripted … I’d bet you don’t really want to change that, do you?”
She smiled as the slaver turned and hurried away. He was a magician, although a very minor one; she was mildly surprised he hadn’t been added to the magicians awaiting their turn on the sacrificial altar. But then, his speciality – enslavement spells – might come in handy for the Emperor. He’d probably find himself leaving with the army, when the time came, and practicing his art on prisoners of war. Given what he’d done to his victims, she found it hard to feel sorry for him.
Full Circle Page 3