Mage's Blood

by David Hair

  They breakfasted late on eggs with bread and onions. The coastal desert was at peace, empty of all but a few birds, the constant rumble and crash of the water softened by distance. He pulled her down beside him under the open sky and made love to her, cradled in the same position they had slept, lying behind her and inside her, a slow and lingering pleasure. ‘The healers say it makes the birth easier if conjugal relations continue throughout the pregnancy,’ he assured her. ‘Or at least, that’s what I paid them to say,’ he added with a chuckle. He could have been thirty in that moment. She wished that they could stay here longer.

  But they had to return, flying all afternoon in the blazing sunlight, battling a headwind, though they still raced along faster than horses, and soon the Hebb Valley sprawled beneath them. Meiros grimly pointed out six windships in a row outside the city walls. ‘Six Rondian Warbirds. Betillon has reinforcements.’ He increased the speed of the flying carpet, swooping south towards his gleaming, needle-like tower. The air of the city had a rank smell from above, like a smoke-filled latrine, and Ramita wrinkled her nose in distaste. The desert air had been so clean.

  They alighted in the courtyard just before sunset, and she realised she felt profound regret at being back. Just for one day and night, her life had been almost perfect, the world of the magi filled with more wonders than terrors. She let him kiss her lips and hugged him tightly in return.

  He stroked her brow, his voice apologetic. ‘I am sorry, Ramita, but I must go to the Domus Costruo and find what the advent of these warships means. Dine judiciously, and sleep well. I will see you in the morning.’

  Huriya was full of questions, but she did not want company that night and eventually Huriya took the hint and left sulkily. Soon after Ramita heard Huriya’s door click as she admitted someone, probably Klein. But Ramita could not sleep, torn between guilt for a young lover and yearning for the safe arms of an old man of whom she was more than fond.

  34

  Revealed

  Sorcery: Wizardry

  The greatest of all Studies. Once you master Wizardry, you have mastered every aspect of the gnosis, for there is nothing you cannot do. Nothing!

  GILDEROY VARDIUS, WIZARD, PALLAS 846

  Norostein, Noros, on the continent of Yuros

  Junesse 928

  1 month until the Moontide

  Torsdai, 4 Junesse 928

  A dull rapping roused Alaron from his reverie and a few second later, the hatch opened and Ramon flew down the stairs, looking anxious in the pale blue glow of Alaron’s gnosis-light. ‘Dim that, you idiot,’ the Silacian snapped.

  Alaron released his gnosis-light, only for Cym to call out irritably, ‘Hey, who put out the light?’ He rolled his eyes and lit the candles with a flourish of his hand.

  Ramon wrinkled his nose. ‘Sol et Lune, it stinks in here.’

  Alaron scowled. ‘You try living in it,’ he grumbled. He watched Cym clamber down and look around warily. ‘How long has it been? How many weeks?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Alaron, it’s only been a couple of days – and it’s not like you’re in a prison cell.’ She grabbed Ramon’s sleeve and they both shuffled guiltily. ‘Uh, we need to tell you something.’

  ‘What?’ he demanded suspiciously as his friends looked at each other sheepishly. ‘What?’

  Cym stepped forward. ‘Well, it’s like this. We’ve had to tell someone about our little problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop saying that and calm down. It’s for the best. We didn’t have any choice anyway.’

  ‘What have you done? This is our secret, for Kore’s sake—’

  ‘Well that’s rich, coming from the fool who left his identity all over the theft of Vult’s files,’ snapped Ramon. ‘Do you want to live down here for the rest of your life, or do you want some help in getting out?’

  Alaron stared at them, feeling like the ground had been cut away from his feet. ‘Who have you told?’ he asked weakly.

  His friends looked at each other apprehensively. ‘It’s for the best,’ Cym repeated. She glanced up at the hatch, and Alaron realised it was still open. ‘It’s okay,’ she called hoarsely, and two booted feet descended, bearing a cloaked man who lowered his cowl to reveal blond locks tumbling over a chiselled face.

  ‘Muhren?’ Alaron spat. ‘You told Jeris Muhren – what the Hel are you thinking? He works for Vult, you idiots—’

  The watch captain waved a hand, closing the hatch, and said calmly, ‘Actually, I don’t. I serve the law and the city of Norostein.’

  ‘Ha! Everyone knows the Watch is in the governor’s pocket.’ Alaron glared at his friends. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this.’

  Cym tried to put a hand on his arm, but he shook it off angrily. ‘Alaron, he came to the house when I was there with your mother. He has Tesla in his protection and he’s hidden us from Vult. Vult is furious with him—’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  She frowned. ‘Alaron—’

  ‘You don’t know, do you? You’ve only got his word – they’re probably working together, and now he knows exactly where we all are. I suppose you’ve told him everything—’

  Muhren wasn’t listening; a cone of gnosis-light had bloomed in his hand and was washing over a blinking Jarius Langstrit. ‘By the Kore, it’s true! You’ve found him …’ He fell to his knees, seizing the general’s hand. Langstrit watched him, his face blank. ‘General Langstrit, command me, sir – how may I serve?’ They were startled to see a tear in the captain’s eye, but Langstrit stared back at Muhren incuriously, his expression utterly blank. ‘Do you not remember me, sir? Muhren, Battlemaster, third cohort of the Ninth—’

  The old man didn’t react at all and finally Muhren looked at Alaron. ‘Is he—?’

  ‘I told you, he doesn’t remember anything,’ Cym said, slightly impatiently. ‘Men never listen.’

  Muhren bowed his head, then stood, his eyes on Langstrit. ‘You won’t understand what this means to me, but during the Revolt General Langstrit saved us so many times. He and Robler were our banners; they were miracle-workers. For most of the Revolt we were outnumbered ten to one or worse, but we always came through. They knew the name of the least soldier, especially Old Jari. We loved him – we still love him. It’s eighteen years, but it seems like yesterday …’ He blinked hard. ‘We thought he was dead, and now you’ve found him.’ He looked at Cym. ‘I confess, I did not really believe what you told me.’

  Ramon walked to one side. ‘Jarius,’ he called softly, and the general turned and looked at him. ‘He hears when people say his name,’ Ramon told Muhren. ‘It’s built in to what he did to himself.’

  Muhren stared. ‘How do you mean, “What he did to himself”?’

  While Ramon quietly explained their guesses about Langstrit, Cym put a hand on Alaron’s arm. ‘Look, I know you don’t like it, but in the end it was Vult or Muhren. I asked your mother and she said we could trust him. Without him, we’re going to get caught. Vult is back – he’s already raided Father’s caravan. Only the captain can protect us.’

  Alaron sat down and put his head in his hands. ‘This was our quest – ours. We found the general. He needed help and we gave it. Even assuming you’re right and Muhren isn’t really in Vult’s pocket, you’ve given away control of the whole thing.’ He jabbed a finger at Muhren. ‘What’s he going to do if we do find you-know-what? Let us walk away? I don’t think so—’

  ‘Would Langstrit?’ Ramon replied. He exhaled heavily. ‘Face it, Al, someone’s going to come after it. At least the captain has a testified history of human decency.’

  ‘He believed my thesis, and he’s been watching me ever since,’ Alaron snarled. He looked at Muhren. ‘You’ve been spying on me, thinking I’ll lead you to the damned Scytale so you can restart the Revolt.’

  Muhren raised a placatory hand. ‘Enough! Let me explain myself before you unleash that famous Anborn temper, Master Mercer.’ He looked about the circle of faces. ‘Yes, I know wha
t you hunt. And I presume you all know something of me: I’m a half-blood and I fought in the Crusades – and in the Revolt. I am loyal to my king and country. We did well, for a time, but then the emperor put Kaltus Korion in charge, and Korion targeted the people, knowing we couldn’t protect everyone. The outlying farms went first, then the villages and towns: there were massacres, looting, kidnappings and all the rest – poisoned wells, torture, forced starvation. The promised aid never came. Whenever we fought the enemy we were still winning, but there were many more of them and the odds kept lengthening. In the end, we lost, but we also formed a bond. We who fought that Revolt are bound by suffering.

  ‘Maybe you are old enough to remember the years that followed? The bread queues and shortages; bartering for food because we had no coin, and the parades of the defeated, wrapped in chains, headed by our own king. I was one of those paraded: I could show you the lash-scars on my back. Emperor Constant made an example of us. So it’s fair to ask: do I just want to start another war?

  ‘The answer is complex: do I want Noros to stand free and independent? Of course I do. Do I hate the Rondian throne and wish to see the power of Pallas broken? Of course. But would I plunge my own land, only eighteen years on, with our manpower weak and our farms and commerce barely beginning to recover, back into conflict? No. Absolutely not.’

  He looked at the general. ‘If someone handed me the Scytale of Corineus, what would I do? Ever since I heard Alaron’s thesis I have been wondering that. I would like to think that I would hide it again, for a time, until our land was stronger, and then I would gather trustworthy men, men of honour and virtue, and we would make it our Crusade to rid ourselves of Rondian occupation, to force Pallas to give us our independence. But not by open war. We would do it like Meiros and his Bridge-Builders. They stood apart, gathered power and gave the people their time and energy – just as I try to do in my own small way by keeping the peace.

  ‘But Pallas brooks no rivals. When Pallas sees a power that might challenge it, it stamps it out, whether it’s foreign or their own people. Pallas is the enemy of freedom. And I am the enemy of Pallas. To bring down Pallas cannot happen without blood. Pallas will never surrender. So in the end, there must be blood spilt.

  ‘You are acting for the good of the general, of course you are, but try telling me you have not dreamed of what you might do with the powers of an Ascendant? And try telling me you think Pallas would sanction it.

  ‘If I worked for Vult he would be here now, and he would rip the knowledge you have gained from your minds and continue the search himself. If I were such a man, I could do the same – but I am not. Vult and I are not allies; we have never been allies. He resents any man he cannot suborn or destroy, and he particularly hates those who remember his conduct in the Revolt and what he did at Lukhazan.’

  They all looked at the watchman, and then at each other. ‘So what do you propose?’ Ramon asked.

  Muhren considered before speaking. ‘Here is my offer. I will shield you from Vult. I will help you restore the general, and if we can do that and the Scytale is not found, we will leave it at that. My beloved general being restored would be enough. Perhaps he will even return to the public arena and cast down Vult and all he stands for, and if so, I am his man.

  ‘If the Scytale does come to light, then I swear that I will not attempt to claim it. In return, I would ask you to give it to the general and accept whatever reward he gives. I know him to be an honest and considerate man. If we can agree this, I will swear on whatever you wish – my honour, my periapt, or a holy book: whatever you wish. But please, let me help you.’

  They fell silent for a time. Langstrit watched Muhren as if he were vaguely interesting, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Ramon scratched his ears thoughtfully, his expression neutral. Cym met his gaze placidly, apparently in agreement with the watch captain.

  ‘And if we don’t?’ Alaron asked.

  Muhren looked up at him. ‘If you don’t want my help and you’re prepared to risk Vult on your own, what can I do? It’s not in my nature to force you. But I beg you, do not do that. Belonius Vult is like no one you have ever encountered. He was an indifferent and self-serving general, but he is a serpent when it comes to intrigues, and he is a deadly duellist. He has friends at the very top, even in Pallas – that is what this governor is: Pallas’ hand in Noros. He never forgives a slight, and his enemies do not survive long – and that includes me. As soon as my term in office is over, I will fall hard and fast. If he is aware of your search, he will find you. This will be more important to him than anything else. He has curtailed a mission in Hebusalim to be here. He knows what is at stake.’

  He paused to let them absorb the warning before continuing, ‘Your father and your mother know me, Alaron; so does Cymbellea’s father. I knew your Aunt Elena – I even carried a torch for her, for a while. I beg you, please, trust me.’

  Alaron felt the weight of all of their eyes upon him, even Langstrit’s. Why does it come down to me? he thought sulkily. He rubbed his face, feeling the unwashed skin, the itchy stubble. What choice do we have? We’re in over our heads already. We’re playing at treasure hunters, but the treasure will destroy us. And I can’t hide here for the rest of my life.

  He thought of the humiliation of his thesis presentation. I was putting my head in the noose, and he tried to warn me off. And Gina told me he was writing letters in my support … He hung his head, then stood and offered the watch captain his hand. ‘I’m prepared to give it a chance,’ he managed to say.

  Muhren stood and took his hand in his powerful grip. ‘I won’t let you down, Alaron Mercer.’ He looked at the others. ‘I hold myself bound to keep you safe and to restore the general: I swear this on my gnosis.’

  Alaron, Ramon and Cym looked at each other, then Ramon gave a decisive nod and turned to Muhren. ‘Well, we’d better fill you in …’

  They brought him up to date, taking him through the trail of clues they had followed, though Alaron stopped short of telling him what they’d found in the de Savioc tomb. When they reached that point in the narration, he paused and reached out tentatively for Ramon’s mind.

  Ramon winked.

  Alaron spoke aloud: ‘The final clue was in a tomb the ghost-dog led us to. We think it’s the name of a daemon – we think if we summon it, it will bring the memory-crystal Langstrit constructed and hid. But before I tell you the clue, we have to agree to use it here, with everyone present.’

  Muhren half-smiled. ‘Still not convinced, are you? I suppose that’s fair enough.’ He pointed to the summoning circle on the floor. ‘I’d assumed that wasn’t just decoration.’ He walked around it, peering carefully. ‘This circle has been well-drawn.’

  ‘Are you versed in Wizardry, Captain?’ Ramon enquired warily.

  ‘It is one of my strengths,’ Muhren replied.

  ‘I’m doing the summoning,’ Alaron blurted.

  Muhren frowned. ‘Are you sure, lad?’ He raised a quizzical eye, then glanced at Cym. ‘I gather you have a periapt, but this summoning may not be an easy one. You don’t know what manner of being Jari chose.’

  Alaron stood up. Have confidence. Toughen up. ‘I’m doing it.’ He glared about him.

  Muhren inclined his head. ‘Very well. But you will need a further outer circle, to prevent Vult or any other mage from detecting the surge in energies created by the summoning. I can draw one of those for you, but I’m due on night watch inside the hour. Let us return here tomorrow evening, after I have completed my shift and slept. I will create the dampening circle and then Master Mercer may assay the summoning. Agreed?’

  That sounded reasonable – and Alaron wasn’t ready to go ahead with the summoning, not after this new shock. ‘If you can bring some hot food, that would be even better,�
� he told the captain boldly. ‘I’ve not had a hot meal for days, and neither has the general. And we need more blankets – and can you take out the slop-bucket?’

  Muhren raised an eyebrow. ‘Gods, you test my patience, boy.’

  Cym stepped lightly between them. ‘He annoys us all, Captain. It’s part of his charm.’

  Freyadai, 5 Junesse 928

  It was late afternoon when Alaron was awakened first by Cym and then Ramon arriving. They cooked the food they’d brought using Fire-gnosis and fed the general, then they sat about waiting apprehensively for the arrival of Jeris Muhren. Or Belonius Vult.

  ‘You trust Muhren?’ Ramon asked, munching a honey-cake.

  ‘I’m getting there.’ Alaron mopped his brow, sweating despite the cold air of the cellar. ‘I think he’d do anything for the general. I’m not so sure he’d do as much for us if push comes to shove.’

  ‘In Silacia, we say, “Have your friends to dinner, but your enemies to breakfast”. It means you should keep a close eye on them. So let’s do that, si?’

  Muhren himself arrived soon afterwards, cloaked in dark wool. He went first to the general and examined him anxiously. ‘You have taken good care of him,’ he admitted, before joining the others beside the summoning circle. ‘Vult has informers in my Watch, of course, but I know who they are. It was easy enough to shake them.’ He looked at Alaron. ‘So, you are still resolved?’

  ‘Of course,’ Alaron said irritably.

  ‘Then shall we begin? I will inscribe the dampening circle.’

  The young magi watched with interest as the watch captain went about his task. They’d been taught the working, but Ramon had never mastered it and Alaron had forgotten it – he’d never thought to need such secrecy. After a painstaking hour, Muhren fused the silver dust with a flash of energy and declared himself satisfied. ‘Master Mercer, the floor is yours.’

  Alaron took a deep breath, glanced at Ramon for reassurance and began, ‘Okay, here’s what we learned. There is a tomb with “JL” marked on it, and then we found the words “Voco Arbendesai” inscribed underneath. We believe that is a summoning phrase for a daemon.’