Full Circle

by Christopher Nuttall

“No,” Dread said. “We do, however, need to discuss planning with you.”

  Sarah shrugged, then sat down on a hard wooden chair and scowled at them. “What do you want us to do? Bear in mind that we aren’t going to risk our lives too far.”

  Dread met her eyes. “First, tell me what the political situation here is like.”

  “The City Fathers are in a mess,” Sarah said, after a moment’s thought. “They’ve been hammering everyone who dares to repeat rumours from Knawel Haldane, even though the entire city knows. The City Guard is on alert, but they don’t know who or what they’re going to fight. Us? We’ve been keeping our heads down and trying to decide what to do about it.”

  “I see,” Dread said. “Do you have any allies on the City Council?”

  Sarah snorted, rudely. “Do you really think that any of them would ally themselves with us? We do have a handful of allies in the City Guard, but no one with enough power to force the City Fathers to see reason.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” Dread said. “How many of you are there and how many are magicians?”

  “I would prefer not to answer that question,” Sarah said. She waved a hand in the air, dispelling the truth spell. “I will tell you that I’m not the only magician.”

  Johan leant forward. “Is there anyone significantly more powerful than you?”

  “Some,” Sarah said, flatly.

  “There are spells we could teach them, new spells,” Dread said. “You might find them useful.”

  “I’m sure,” Sarah said. “Enough to stand up to a dragon?”

  Dread looked uncomfortable. “I would prefer not to allow those spells to become common knowledge,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Do you have any way of taking over the city?”

  “Probably not,” Sarah said. “We’d wind up with a civil war.”

  “Then we need your magicians to come with us,” Dread said. “In the meantime, we also need to bring down the bridges and make it harder for the enemy to ship his men across the river.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sarah said in a tone that reminded Johan of Charity in a snit, “but dragons fly, don’t they? There’s nothing stopping one flying over the river and bathing the city in fire. Or do you think a dragon will refuse to fly over the water for fear of its wings suddenly failing and plunging into the icy waves?”

  Johan felt himself flush, angrily. His power, his strange power, rose to the forefront of his mind. He could humble her, he could break her, he could strip her magic …

  Calm, Elaine said, through the link. Take a deep breath and be calm.

  I’m trying, Johan sent back, but …

  He forced himself to take a long breath, calming down. It wasn’t easy. No one had talked to him like Sarah had since he’d gained his powers. It brought back all the bitter memories of endless humiliations at the hands of his family, the people who should have loved him no matter what happened. And it would be so easy to revenge himself on them.

  “The Emperor wishes to push an army at Ida,” Dread said, calmly. “The nearest natural ford on the Lug River is ninety miles to the north. Taking down the bridges will force him, at the very least, to divert men and material to build pontoon bridges. Unless” – he quirked an eyebrow – “it’s possible to swim the Lug?”

  “Not here,” Sarah said. She smiled, rather coldly. Johan couldn’t help thinking of a predatory animal moving towards its prey. “The river looks deceptively tranquil, but only a complete idiot would attempt to swim it. There are all sorts of nasty currents towards the middle. I know sailors who turn pale at the thought of trying to navigate through the river.”

  She frowned. “But what’s to stop him from bringing his men over on dragons?”

  “Very little,” Dread said. “But it will take a very long time for him to merely move them from one side of the river to the other, if he’s completely dependent on dragons. Anything that slows the main body of his army is worth doing, I think.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Sarah said. “He’ll still take it out on the city, won’t he?”

  Johan took a long breath. “Yes, he will,” he said. “But I don’t think you can expect to be treated well in any case.”

  “The rumours from Knawel Haldane make that clear,” Sarah agreed. She stood, brushing her hands down her filthy dress. “I will, of course, have to discuss it with my fellows. Those of us who are magicians will be interested …”

  “I would hope so,” Dread said. He frowned. “There really isn’t much time. I imagine they could be here within hours if they wanted to merely rely on the dragons.”

  “I’ll tell them,” Sarah assured her. “You’ll be safe in your room, for the moment.”

  “Thank you,” Johan said. He hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at his mind ever since he’d realised that Sarah was a magician. “Why do you work here?”

  Sarah shrugged. “My father owns the inn,” she said. “It’s a good place to hear what’s going on – and besides, without me, one of the fights would burn the whole building to the ground soon enough.”

  “But can’t you get a better job?” Johan asked. “Somewhere where you can use your magic?”

  “Not when I barely have enough to light a candle,” Sarah snapped. “I don’t even have enough to be interesting on the marriage market.”

  She opened the door and nodded to the stairs. “We’ll be in touch within the next couple of hours,” she added. “Don’t leave the building; if you need food, ask one of the other wenches to get it for you. I wouldn’t advise eating anything from here unless you want to spend the next few hours on the pot.”

  Johan shuddered in disgust. Sarah smirked at him.

  “You’re a long way from the Golden City,” she said. “Welcome to how the rest of the world lives.”

  Chapter Five

  “I can still talk,” Jamal said, once he and Charity were alone in her tent. “What happened to you?”

  Charity glowered at him. “You left me in charge of the family, you bastard,” she said. The nasty part of her mind wondered if Jamal was literally a bastard. But no, her father would have tested him as soon as he was born. And besides, he looked more like his father – and Johan – than any of them would have preferred. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Jamal looked at her, sharply. “To do what?”

  “To pledge myself to the Emperor,” Charity snapped. “To become his pawn – his puppet – in exchange for the safety of my remaining siblings.”

  “Our remaining siblings,” Jamal said.

  “You’re a slave,” Charity said. “You have no siblings.”

  Jamal smiled, rather thinly. “So are you.”

  “Shut up,” Charity ordered. Jamal’s mouth snapped closed. “Don’t say another word until I say otherwise.”

  She glared at her older brother. His eyes seemed to be glimmering with amusement, although a single word from her could have had him cutting his own throat. And yet, the Emperor had a use for him. She could no more defy the Emperor than Jamal could defy her – and he knew it, the bastard. A slave had no kin, a slave was nothing but property … and she was a slave too. Jamal had been quite right.

  “The Emperor wants you to kill Johan,” she said. “Do you think you can?”

  “I don’t seem to have a choice,” Jamal said, taking her question as permission to speak. “I want to be free.”

  “Yes, it is awkward having to do what you’re told,” Charity sniped. She might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t cast compulsion charms on her while she was growing up. “Do you really think the Emperor will free you?”

  “He said he’d remove the collar,” Jamal reminded her. “Are you allowed to suggest he might break his word?”

  “I haven’t been told otherwise,” Charity said. She picked up a bell from the table and rang it, once. Moments later, a maid – the slave collar around her neck clearly visible – stepped through the flap and into the tent. “Fetch a large basin of warm water,
a cloth, a towel and some commoner clothes for my brother.”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship,” the maid said. She looked Jamal up and down, silently gauging his measurements, then turned towards the flap. “I will be back as soon as possible.”

  “Now there’s someone obedient,” Jamal remarked. “She hardly needs the collar.”

  Charity shook her head in disbelief. “Have you forgotten the collar around your neck already?”

  She allowed her voice to harden. “Tell me what happened after you lost your powers – and don’t try to hide anything.”

  Jamal’s face twisted as he tried to fight the collar for a long moment. Charity watched him absently, wondering if Jamal was strong enough to defeat the enchantment – and what she would do if he was. But he had no magic and force of will alone wasn’t enough to defeat such an intrusive spell. In the end, he couldn’t hold out any longer.

  “I fled through the tunnels and out into the countryside,” Jamal said. His voice became a whine. “There were too many people who would want revenge. I reached Knawel Haldane and rented a room at an inn while I tried to decide what to do. But I ran out of money very quickly and they refused to extend any credit! They didn’t know who I was!”

  “Of course not,” Charity said, nastily. “Everyone knows that House Conidian only produces powerful magicians, not Powerless.”

  Jamal glowered at her. “They took me, shoved me into a cell and snapped a collar on me,” he added, bitterly. “And then no one would even buy me!”

  Charity laughed, even though it wasn’t particularly funny. If the Emperor hadn’t attacked Knawel Haldane, Jamal would eventually have been sold to the mines – or worse – and worked to death. The thought of her snooty bully of an older brother slaving away deep underground, digging up coal or gold, was surprisingly amusing. No one would ever have known what had happened to him, nor would anyone have really cared. House Conidian was better off without him.

  “It must have suited you,” she said, finally. “And it was precisely what you deserved.”

  “I am the Prime Heir to House Conidian,” Jamal said. “I …”

  “You were the Prime Heir right up until the moment you lost your magic,” Charity said. Their father might have stripped Jamal of his position anyway – the gods knew the old man had been running out of patience, once Jamal had been arrested by the Inquisitors – but it no longer mattered. “A Powerless can’t be Family Head.”

  Jamal flushed at her words. How often had he thrown them at Johan, before casting a spell that had left the younger boy humiliated? Losing his magic had to be the worst fate Jamal could imagine, if only because of all the people who’d want revenge. Charity wouldn’t have bet a single bronze coin on his surviving longer than a week. But he had, barely.

  He would have been worked to death in the mines, she reminded herself, as the tent flap opened and a pair of male attendants carried in a large washing tub. She’d heard stories about the mines and none of them were good. He wouldn’t have survived more than a few weeks.

  “Undress, then wash yourself,” she ordered. The servants bowed to her, then turned and left the tent. “I want you completely clean, so don’t forget to wash the collar. And keep your mouth shut, unless you have an urgent question.”

  Jamal’s face burnt with humiliation. “I need to … ah … take a shit.”

  Charity flushed in embarrassment. “There’s a bucket in the washroom,” she said. Trust Jamal to get under her skin, even when she held all the power. “Do your business there, then wash yourself. Once you are clean and dressed, call for me.”

  She touched her wand at her belt, then headed through the flap into the next room. The maid would give Jamal the clothes, once they were ready, and the collar would keep him from doing anything she’d find objectionable. Until then … she sat down at her desk and stared at the handful of remaining artefacts, wondering what surprises they might hold. But as she started to work her way through them, it became clear that they simply weren’t particularly interesting.

  At least the knife might be useful, she thought, touching it gingerly. She might not have been its mistress, but the charms on the blade would work for her too. I can use it, if necessary.

  It was nearly an hour before Jamal called her name. Charity sighed, then rose to her feet and stepped back through the flap. Jamal was standing in front of the maid, wearing a long brown outfit that reminded her of the farmers she’d seen before the family had headed to the Golden City … and fallen apart. It was cleaner, though, than anything a farmer would wear and would probably attract attention. She had to force herself to resist the urge to order Jamal to roll in the mud a few times before taking him back to the Emperor. Instead, she settled for beckoning him to follow her as she strode out of the tent.

  Night had fallen completely, but the camp was lit up by hundreds of glowing lanterns, throwing shadows everywhere. She hesitated, then led Jamal towards the sacrificial pits, where a dozen red-robed sorcerers were systematically butchering the magicians unfortunate enough to live in Knawel Haldane. Their hands chained with magic-resistant cuffs, the poor sorcerers didn’t have a chance. One by one, they were marched to the block and beheaded, their magic extracted from their body and channelled into the Emperor’s crystals. Their dead bodies were carried off by slaves to a nearby tent, where the bodies were stripped of anything useful for dark rituals. The sorcerers didn’t stop being valuable after their deaths.

  She smiled, inwardly, as she heard Jamal gag. He’d been an asshole, all right; he’d bullied his younger siblings and anyone who didn’t have the magic to stand up to him. But he’d never killed, as far as she knew, and he’d certainly never set out to slaughter hundreds of lesser magicians for their magic and blood. He knew, as well as she did, just what one could do with the remains of a dead magician. To see what the Emperor was capable of …

  It might make him think, she thought, although she suspected it wouldn’t. Jamal was a slave, helpless and trapped. He’d do anything to escape that fate, no matter how vile. By now, Johan’s death would seem a minor price for freedom. If she’d been offered the same choice, Charity asked herself, what would she have done? Killed Johan … if, of course, it was possible. Johan’s magic was so strange that no one really understood how it worked. Jamal might end up dead instead.

  “Let me go,” a voice screamed. Charity looked towards the line of magicians and saw a girl who couldn’t be much older than herself, struggling helplessly against her restraints. “Let me go!”

  A red-robed sorcerer pointed a wand at her and she screamed in pain, falling to the ground and thrashing helplessly. Her fellows made no move to help her, but then … there was nothing they could do. The red-robed sorcerers, their robes the colour of blood, picked the girl up, threw her over the altar and nodded to the headsman. A second later, her head hit the ground and a surge of magic flared into one of the crystals. Jamal swallowed, loudly enough for Charity to hear, as the remains of her body were taken away.

  “I never asked,” Charity muttered, as they slipped away from the bloodstained altar. “Why did you keep picking on us?”

  Jamal’s face contorted as he struggled to keep his treacherous mouth shut. “Because it was fun,” he said, finally. “I liked watching you all under my power.”

  Charity wished she was surprised. She’d been told at the Peerless School that a certain amount of bullying was acceptable, if only to encourage young magicians to learn how to defend themselves. Jamal had once even had the nerve to tell her that the itching hex he’d hidden on her robes was for her own good. But Jamal had taken it far too far … and the only reason he’d done it was because he enjoyed it. Their father had never tormented Jamal merely to force him to become better.

  “You’re sick,” she said, finally.

  “Fuck you, little sis,” Jamal snapped back. “Which of us pledged herself to the Emperor?”

  “Shut up,” Charity snarled. He was right, of course; his collar could be removed, but her oaths we
re binding until the day she died. “And pinch yourself as hard as you can.”

  Jamal grunted in pain. Charity felt a brief moment of satisfaction before it was washed away by despair. Jamal would be freed; she’d remain a slave for the rest of her life. It wasn’t fair … she pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the tent, then prostrated herself in front of the Emperor. He was staring into the distance, his face oddly slack. For an odd moment, she was half-convinced she was prostrating herself in front of the wrong person.

  “Charity,” the Emperor said, shaking himself out of his funk. “Is Jamal ready to depart?”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said. “All he needs is the collar removed.”

  “So he does,” the Emperor said. He waved a hand at Jamal and the younger man froze, unable to move. “We will start with a blood oath.”

  He produced a dagger from his belt and carefully placed the blade against Jamal’s neck, breaking the skin just enough to produce a tiny line of blood. Charity watched, torn between fascination and horror, as the Emperor muttered the words of a spell, magic flickering around the cut and shimmering into Jamal’s body. She’d never seen anything quite like it, but somehow she wasn’t surprised the Emperor would use such a ritual. Blood was the single most potent magical substance that could be extracted from the human body.

  “Your task is the death of your brother Johan,” the Emperor said. “This oath will push you onwards until your brother is dead, whereupon it will break and you will be free.”

  At least he mentioned Johan by name, Charity thought. Their younger brothers were at the Peerless School, reasonably safe … or as safe as they could be, with a mad Emperor on the Golden Throne. An oath that didn’t specify which brother had to die could be subverted quite easily. Jay and Jolie will be safe.

  She shuddered in horror. The Emperor had made her take children from the Peerless School, children who had been used in a ritual for summoning entities from beyond. Yes, they’d been newborn magicians, with no families to complain … but the Emperor was now so powerful that the remaining Great Houses didn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him. He could take Jay and Jolie from the Peerless School if he wished, unless the Administrator stood up to him …