“It has been so long,” the Witch-King said, pausing to look up at the sky. “I have missed it.”
He turned his head slowly, looking up towards Ida. Johan felt himself rolled over; the city was illuminated by glowing lights, but the fires looked to be gone. Part of his mind noted that Deferens might be sending more soldiers to attack at night, yet it was hard to remember why that was important. The Witch-King gazed at the city for a long moment, his skull-like face unreadable.
“They have forgotten me,” he said. In the distance, Johan could hear a group of soldiers approaching. It didn’t feel like a problem, even though cold logic suggested otherwise. “But now they will remember.”
He turned to Johan and reached out with one flaming fingertip. There was a pulse of magic as he touched Johan’s forehead …
… And Johan blacked out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Charity had expected the Emperor to be furious.
She’d braced herself for his temper, even though he’d never struck her; she’d braced herself for blows or humiliation or even death. But instead, the Emperor merely called off the attack, ordered General Vetch to prepare a second offensive once reinforcements arrived and returned to his tent to meditate. Charity looked in on him an hour later and found him sitting on his chair, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself. She closed the flap as quietly as possible and slipped away. He couldn’t give her any orders if she wasn’t there to hear them.
It was hard for her to be sure – she’d never had to care about the opinions of her inferiors before – but morale in the camp seemed to be low. Thousands of men were dead, the previously-invulnerable dragons had been crippled and Ida still stood above World’s Gate, mocking them. Charity had no idea what had caused the firestorm that had slaughtered the advancing troops and nor did anyone else, judging by their whispered comments. The general consensus seemed to be that an angry god had reached down and blotted the advancing forces from existence.
She caught sight of a black-robed Inquisitor standing at the edge of the camp and wandered over to him. He turned to face her as she approached, something damned and suffering in his eyes. Charity understood; he’d sworn oaths that bound him to the Emperor, in the certain knowledge there was no Emperor. But now there was an Emperor and the oath-sworn had to obey him or die. It would be hard for any of them to summon the drive to force their oaths to kill them. Charity knew she didn’t have the determination to push the oath to break her.
“Night is falling,” the Inquisitor said. A low rumble echoed through the ground, then faded away into nothingness. “Night is falling and something is wrong.”
Charity gave him a sharp look. Earthquakes? Was Roth trying to trigger an earthquake? No, the Emperor would have had to order it and the Emperor had remained in his tent. It had to be something else, but what? Even if the Queen of Ida was prepared to countenance her sorcerers being sacrificed to power a spell – and if the sorcerers were willing to be sacrificed – they couldn’t have enough sorcerers to make a difference. Another tremor ran through the ground and she shuddered. In the distance, birds were spiralling upwards, shocked from their perches. A handful of tiny animals appeared from nowhere and ran into the distance, squeaking in shock. Something was definitely wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. She’d surrendered to the Emperor, but the Inquisitor had sworn his oaths in good faith. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The Inquisitor gave her a look that made her take a step backwards, just as the ground shook again. He blamed himself, she saw; he hated what he’d become, what the Emperor had made of him … and yet he could do nothing. The Emperor would never release him from his oaths, if only because he’d try to kill the Emperor the moment he was free. All he could do was follow orders, search for loopholes and pray that someone killed him before it was too late.
But it’s already too late, Charity thought. She’d been spared some of the darker tasks, but she’d done enough to ensure her damnation once she died. Taking the children from the Peerless School for the first sacrifice had been quite bad enough. The gods would spit on her in horror, then discard her into the deepest darkest hell-pit they could find. There’s no way out for us.
The ground shook, one final time. Charity blinked in surprise as she saw a flash of blue light to the west, where the mountains rose steeply into the darkening sky. There were patrols out there, watching and waiting in case the defenders tried to mount a counterattack, but nothing else … surely, no one would be experimenting with raw magic so far from the camp? It wouldn’t be safe …
Because the locals hate us, she thought, bitterly. Most of the population had either fled to Ida or vanished into the mountains, but enough remained to keep their homes firmly barred shut against all intruders. She wouldn’t put it past them to sneak out at night and cut the throats of a few unwary soldiers. They’ll never forgive us for what we’ve done.
There was another flash of blue light, then nothing. The Inquisitor stirred, his eyes narrowing in concern, as Charity heard booted feet striding up behind her. She turned, then fell on her knees as she saw the Emperor, wearing a long golden cloak that concealed his red garments and bare legs. Maybe he honestly didn’t feel the cold, she thought. He wasn’t wearing that much more than her.
The Emperor didn’t look at her or the Inquisitor. Instead, he just waited; his hands resting firmly by his side. Roth appeared moments later, flanked by Moeder; the older woman looked tired, as if she’d been drugged. There was nothing at all in her eyes.
“Fetch the crystals,” the Emperor ordered, curtly. He jabbed a finger at the frost-covered ground in front of him. “Place them all here.”
“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Roth said.
He bowed and hurried back towards his tent. Charity could hear him barking orders to the slaves, who started to unload the remaining crystals from the carts and carry them over to the Emperor. Charity frowned as the small pile of glowing crystals grew larger and larger, wondering just what was going through the Emperor’s mind. Was he planning to turn the stockpiled magic against Ida? Or force Charity or the Inquisitor to channel the power? Or did he have something else in mind. She tasted the raw magic brushing against her mind and fought down the impulse to turn and run. She’d heard enough stories about people who’d had close encounters with raw magic to know it wasn’t safe to remain near such a high concentration for long.
But this isn’t a natural concentration, she thought. Powerful magicians came from regions contaminated with wild magic … but so did all sorts of abominations. Werewolves, vampires, mermaids, trolls, goblins … creatures that, at best, would never be considered fully human. Surely the Emperor wouldn’t be standing so close if there was any real danger.
She glanced up as she saw another flicker of blue light, then froze as a handful of figures emerged from the darkness. Five soldiers and … she heard Roth’s stunned curse as the sixth figure came into view, a glowing skeleton wrapped in blue fire. The sheer presence would have sent her to her knees, if she hadn’t been kneeling already. No one, not even her father or Light Spinner, had such a presence. Enough magic to burn the camp to ash pulsed on the air, centred on the glowing figure. She knew, without a doubt, that resistance was futile.
It took her a moment to see the final figure, floating helplessly in the air behind the glowing skeleton. Charity peered into the darkness and flinched in surprise as she recognised Johan: bruised, battered, unconscious and very clearly a prisoner. The Emperor, the only person who hadn’t fallen to his knees, took a step forward and bowed once, as if to an equal. There was a long pause, pregnant with menace, and then the skeleton bowed back.
“The crystals are yours,” the Emperor said. His voice was twisted, as if he were fighting a compulsion curse. Charity looked from one to the other, trying to understand what was happening. The Emperor didn’t seem happy. “Take them.”
The glowing skeleton nodded, then made a gesture with one hand. Johan dropped to the ground and la
y still. Charity started forward instinctively, then froze as the skeleton looked directly at her. She could see blue fire flaring around its eyes, as if its skin had been replaced by raw magic. The force of its gaze held her utterly immobile …
… And then it turned and walked towards the crystals. Charity slumped, forcing herself to watch as the skeleton picked up the first crystal. There was a brilliant flash of white light; the crystal flickered, then died. The skeleton had absorbed the magic … one by one, it consumed the other crystals, the blue fire growing brighter and brighter. Charity couldn’t move as the last of the crystals died; the skeleton seemed to hesitate, just long enough to worry her, then turned and beckoned to Moeder. The woman stumbled forwards and knelt before the skeleton.
Charity’s eyes narrowed. What is she doing …?
Moeder bowed her head. The skeleton touched her hair lightly with one glowing hand. Blue fire flared over Moeder’s body, although it didn’t seem to be hurting her. Charity watched, torn between awe and horror, as long seconds passed, trying to work out what was happening between them. And then Moeder fell forward and hit the ground, breaking the connection; the blue fire surrounding her flickered and died. The skeleton looked at the Emperor for a long moment, then turned and walked away from the camp. Charity thought it would turn towards Ida, but instead it seemed to be heading south, back the way the army had come.
“By all the gods,” Roth breathed. “Your Supremacy?”
Charity looked at the Emperor. He was frozen, seemingly unable to move. She felt a moment of hope that he might be completely gone, then shuddered inwardly as his entire body jerked. He took one look at the dead crystals, then turned to peer down at Johan. The Emperor’s eyes seemed to almost look past him for a long moment before they focused on Johan’s face.
“Charity,” the Emperor said. He sounded … odd, as if he still wasn’t quite himself. “Johan is our prisoner. You will take him to your tent, secure him and feed him Amanda’s Draught every two hours.”
“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said. She hesitated. “May I use magic?”
“If you must,” the Emperor said. “Roth; you will take Moeder to her tent and leave her there, under guard. Should she recover, she is not to leave.”
He paused, a cold smile flickering across his face. “General Vetch?”
“Yes, Your Supremacy?”
“You are to rally the troops and prepare for a final assault on Ida, to be launched as the dawn breaks,” the Emperor said. “We have been visited by a god. Our mission is blessed. Make sure the troops know what happened.”
He looked at the soldiers who’d escorted the god – Charity had some trouble believing the skeleton was a god, but she was unable to deny the sheer sense of power that had surrounded the entity – and smiled at them.
“You are promoted up one rank,” the Emperor said. “You are to tell everyone you know what you saw and make them understand what it means. A god has come from the heavens to assist us. We cannot fail.”
The soldiers bowed in unison. “Yes, Your Supremacy.”
Charity sighed as her oaths forced her over to Johan. Up close, he didn’t look as badly injured as she’d thought, but she cast a pair of diagnostic spells anyway. She wasn’t quite sure why he was stunned; it looked like spell damage, yet she didn’t recognise the spell or see any easy way to counter it. Gritting her teeth, she cast a levitation spell of her own and lifted Johan up into the air, carrying him over to her tent. The troops were already talking in low voices as she walked past them, rumours already spreading wildly out of control. It sounded as though the Emperor had been personally blessed by a senior god.
She shook her head in dismay. There were hundreds of thousands of gods, ranging from the household gods that protected families to the greater gods who laid down the law for their believers and punished wrongdoers. The Empire had recognised most of the gods, but there was no reason why someone couldn’t worship whatever they wanted. They were all real, after all, even if only a handful of people worshiped a particular god. But now …
What does it mean, she asked herself, if a real god is walking the earth?
The Emperor had said the entity was a god, but if the Emperor had told her it was a sunny day she would have dressed for the rain. She simply didn’t trust the Emperor; he’d enslaved her, humiliated her and was in the process of tearing his empire apart. And that meant the creature wasn’t a god. But if it wasn’t a god, what was it?
She laid Johan down on the bed and hesitated. The Emperor had told her to secure him, but what did that mean? Chains? Or merely tie his hands and feet to the bed? She knew a hundred spells that could keep him docile and enslaved … except those spells might no longer work. He’d developed an odd kind of magic, after all. She looked down at him for a long moment, then looked around for something she could use to tie his hands to the headboard. It might not be enough to immobilise him completely, but it would be a good faith attempt to carry out the Emperor’s commands.
The tent opened, revealing a grim-faced Inquisitor. “I have chains for you,” he said. His face was impassive, but Charity saw horror in his eyes. He’d either seen the entity or heard the rumours running through the camp. “The Emperor has commanded that he is to be as close to immobile as possible, without the use of magic.”
“Thank you,” Charity said, sourly.
She stepped back and watched as the Inquisitor chained Johan up, spreading his arms and legs until he could barely twitch. Charity sighed – the Emperor clearly thought that Johan needed to be able to move to work magic – and then started to pick through the small stockpile of potions ingredients she’d been allowed to bring with her. Amanda’s Draught was not actually hard to brew, but she couldn’t help feeling nervous as she put the ingredients together and waited for the potion to boil. It always took longer when she wasn’t at ease with herself.
“Make sure it’s cool enough to drink before you force it down his throat,” the Inquisitor warned. “The Emperor will want to talk to him later.”
“Of course,” Charity said. She doubted she could have hurt Johan, even if she hadn’t been ordered to look after him. He was her brother, after all. “What was that … that thing?”
The Inquisitor turned to look at her. “What sort of god requires a source of magic?”
Charity stared down at the bubbling liquid. Gods didn’t need anything, although she had heard whispers about sects that claimed the gods were actually dependent on humanity rather than the other way round. They tended to keep their heads down in civilised cities. But the Inquisitor was right. What sort of god needed magic?
“I don’t know,” she said. Her own family traced its bloodline back to the gods, but she couldn’t help wondering if that was a lie. It wasn’t as if the records were that good, past five or six hundred years. And besides, if magicians came from the gods, how did one explain mundane-born magicians? Were they the children of gods? “But if it needs magic, is it actually a god?”
“Quite,” the Inquisitor said, bitterly. “But it doesn’t matter. All that matters, right now, is that the entire camp believes that it’s a god.”
He bowed and retreated. Charity watched him go, then tested the potion, decided it was cool enough to drink safely and poured a small amount into a beaker. It had been years since she’d had to force-feed anyone potion – they’d been taught how to do it at school, but she hadn’t gone into healing – yet it was simple enough. She used a very minor spell to trigger the swallow reflex as she poured the warm liquid into his mouth.
Johan gasped once, then shuddered. Charity winced in sympathy. Amanda’s Draught deadened emotion, all emotion. It wasn’t addictive, technically, but it tended to be difficult to stop using it, once the drinker had grown accustomed to life without feeling. And the Emperor had ordered her to make sure he drank it every two hours. Coming off it was not going to be easy. She might have to leave him chained up until he got over the emotional breakdown, if he ever did.
“I�
��m sorry,” she whispered. She half-hoped he’d throw up, but his stomach seemed to accept the draught. He was used to drinking potions, just like everyone else. She even remembered him trying to make them, when they’d been younger. “I don’t have a choice.”
She braced herself, then started to probe at the stunning spell. The Emperor hadn’t said she couldn’t wake him up, after all. It was hard to see just how the spell worked – she had never seen anything like it, even in the family’s private library – but a shock should break the spell and wake Johan. Or so she hoped … she pushed her fears aside and jabbed him with a stinging hex. Her cheeks burnt with embarrassment as she remembered using hexes on him before, as a joke; she hoped, despite herself, that the potion had worked. If Johan had truly killed Jamal …
He might kill me too, she thought. In some ways, it would be a relief. After being a slave, she understood perfectly how Johan had felt while he was growing up. And I would deserve it for everything I did to him.
Johan twitched once and opened his eyes.
“Elaine?”
“No,” Charity said, softly. Elaine? The Head Librarian? “It’s Charity, Johan. You’re a prisoner in the Emperor’s camp.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Elaine?”
Elaine barely heard the voice. She hurt. Every last part of her hurt. It was hard, so hard, to think straight; her mind hazed in and out of awareness, leaving her wondering if she was imagining the voice. And then she felt something hot touching her cheek, snapping her awake. She was surrounded by bright lights …
“Elaine, it’s Daria,” the voice said. “Can you hear me?”
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