by CS Sealey
“Not this time, Tarik,” he said, shaking his head. He rose from the armchair and turned to Lhunannon. “Coming?”
“I suppose,” the enchanter said, heaving himself up, “though I did just eat.”
Of the many dozens of rooms the castle of Ammentide had once boasted, only the main sitting room, a rudimentary kitchen, four bedrooms and a storeroom remained in good condition. At the end of the corridor beyond the sitting room was an open courtyard that had been a grand hall, built for a king or a regional duke. Varren led Lhunannon through the overgrown courtyard and nodded at the two guards standing by the passage to the dungeons, the entrance no longer secured by a door. Like most of the people of Manthis, they were tall and tanned, with dark eyes, braided hair and tribal markings adorned their arms. They moved aside to let Varren and Lhunannon pass, then resumed their positions. Varren held aloft his hand and summoned a ball of light to his palm, which he sent hovering in the air, illuminating the way, before they descended the well-worn stone steps into the gloom.
The stairs spiraled down to a landing with a heavy wooden door in the far wall. The timber was rotten and, in fact, was only standing because of the iron supports. Varren had always meant to replace it but had had little reason to until now – he had never played host to prisoners before. There were dozens of cells and Varren had put Mayor Challan in the lower of the two floors where the air was damp and cold.
“What are you planning to do with him?” Lhunannon asked as they left the first landing and continued down.
“I have yet to decide,” Varren said, looking over his shoulder at the enchanter. “There are some actions that are more powerful messages than an assassination.”
“Such as?”
“Had Nomanis Tirk thought to poison General Carter’s good name instead of killing him, he would have rattled the empire. Spreading rumors and bribing witnesses to speak against Carter would have had a devastating effect.”
“True, but with you or I as the judge, that plan would not have worked.”
“Yet the initial suspicion would linger. Toppling great men from favor hurts the people’s faith where a death would only stir feelings of revenge.”
“So you mean to force him to confess to the queen?”
“Perhaps.”
“And she, in turn, will be forced to take the necessary action against him. Yes…Despite his being her greatest supporter, she will have to decide between saving Challan’s reputation and facing the bitter scrutiny of her people.”
“That is a possibility.”
“He could face a charge of treason,” Lhunannon said. “At the very least, he should be ostracized.”
“But if she thought I was manipulating the situation, she could disregard the evidence as false. A full confession must come from his lips.”
“I suppose you have a plan.”
Varren pushed open another rotting door to enter the lower floor of the dungeons. All the iron doors were open but one. As Varren ignited the ancient torches in their brackets with unnatural fire, Lhunannon moved over to the cell and peered into the blackness beyond.
“He’s asleep.”
“Then it’s time for him to wake up.”
Lhunannon inclined his head before shaking back his sleeves. Raising his arms slightly, he grasped at the air and then forced his palms forward. A ripple of energy pulsated from his body and swirled back around before catapulting along his outstretched arms. A bolt of pure magic, bright white and hot, thundered into the door of Challan’s cell with a tremendous boom.
There was a terrified scream.
Lhunannon closed his hands and drew back his arms, severing the magic. Varren crinkled his nose at the stench of hot metal. He wrenched open what remained of the door and let it crash against the wall of the corridor.
“Good morning, my lord!” he exclaimed. “I hope I find you well.”
Lhunannon stood beside him as they surveyed Mayor Challan. The prisoner’s eyes were wide with fear, his lips quivering, and his trousers wet. There was no trace of the grandeur he had once possessed.
“Recover your wits, my lord,” Lhunnanon said calmly, “or you will be of no further use to us.”
Varren folded his arms and waited, but when Challan did not move, he sighed. He approached the crouching prisoner in the dark cell and pressed his fore and middle fingers of his right hand into the soft flesh of the man’s shoulder and produced a spark. The man jumped, yelping, and then his eyes darted about the room.
“What – what happened?” he exclaimed, his hands grasping at the walls of the cell frantically, his manacles clinking.
“I need to talk to you,” Varren said, squatting on the floor in front of him, “and I need you to cooperate. I hope you understand that I am more than capable of torturing you.”
“Yes!” the mayor said, his eyes now fixed on Varren’s own. “Yes, I’ll tell you anything you want to know! Just…just don’t hurt me again!”
“I make no promises about that, but if you answer my questions to my satisfaction, you may return to Te’Roek with no further injuries. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes!”
“Good.”
Varren sat himself down on the stone bench protruding from one of the cell walls. Lhunannon remained in the doorway, a statue.
“First and foremost, who organized the assassination of General Carter?”
“Myself,” Challan said determinedly. “The queen knew nothing of it. I asked her whether she would approve of an attempt on the king’s life but – ”
“The king?”
“Yes,” the mayor said, his resolve dwindling somewhat. “He had been my initial target. The queen flatly refused any involvement in any scheme to assassinate him and told me that it was dishonorable. But I knew what a great advantage that would give us.”
“I see.”
“But none, not even my most trusted assassin, would take the contract. I offered him hundreds of pfenns but he wouldn’t do it.”
“I like the sound of him.”
“So I thought to try the next most important man instead.”
“General Carter,” Varren said, leaning closer.
“Yes.”
“So you hired Nomanis Tirk?”
“Yes.”
“And you remain adamant that the queen had nothing to do with it. She did not offer funding or a reward for your scheme, even in an indirect way?”
“No,” Challan said sincerely. “I went against her word.”
“Enough for a charge of treason.”
Challan looked up anxiously into Varren’s eyes. “I meant to save the Ronnesian Empire from total destruction!”
“Another has already taken Carter’s place, one who will prove very hard to dispose of. Your assassination has achieved nothing more than a short delay in our preparations for war. The queen, when she hears of this, will be most displeased, especially when it comes from me.”
“No! Please!” Challan cried, clasping his hands together. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell her what I have done!”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The entire Ronnesian Empire must have heard of General Carter’s assassination by now and I have already informed the queen that you were involved. The fact that she has done nothing about it so far is unfortunate, and it will be her undoing. I will crush her reputation among her own people.”
“You can’t do that!”
“My dear lord mayor, don’t insult me by presuming you know the limits of my power. Every single word your mind utters, I can hear, and every emotion you feel, I can sense. And no, no matter how hard you pull, the iron rings will not come out of the wall, I have magically sealed them.”
“How did you – ”
“So when I return you to Te’Roek, you will confess your crimes to the queen.”
“No!”
“You will, and let me tell you why.” Varren leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, a smile forming at the corners of his thin lips.
“Your precious queen is bound by the oath she took upon her coronation to uphold the laws of her empire. Her laws. Either by your confession or by my information, she will know the truth. If she keeps to her oath, then her reputation will remain untainted and the people will continue to trust in her and the law. However, should she neglect to act against you, the streets of Te’Roek will be rife with crime and the citizens will blame the queen, and rightly so. There will be chaos and bloodshed right at her front door, and who will she turn to? Her mages? Would she tell them to bring order back to her city? Would they turn to violence?”
“Sorcha would never allow her advisers to attack civilians!” Challan cried.
“What it all boils down to is this: who is more important to you – yourself or your queen? Should you confess and should the queen act responsibly, only your reputation will be destroyed. However, should you or the queen neglect your separate duties, I will destroy the both of you, and I can promise you that.”
Challan glowered at Varren. “I’ll set Sable on you, you bastard!” he shouted.
“Who is he?” Varren asked, amused. “Your dog?”
“You are no match for him! He’d skin you alive in seconds!”
“Send an army of your lackeys to kill me, Challan, not one of them will come within a dozen yards!” Varren replied, his eyes narrowed. He held the mayor’s gaze for only a moment, then rose. “I will give you three days. Three days to ponder the future of the Ronnesian Empire and your beloved queen.”
CHAPTER 30
It was nearing dawn when Kayte twitched awake. Her night had not been restful and yet she did not feel tired. Her mind wandered back to her dream, but no sooner did she start recalling it, she pushed the images from her mind. It was the same dream as always, spawned by her fears and uncertainty for her own future. Her dream deaths were growing increasingly gruesome.
She stood and slowly pulled on her clothes in the dark. She slipped on a coat to keep herself warm in the early hours of the new spring day and left her room. She descended two flights of stairs and found herself walking past Aiyla’s room and then Markus’s, both of which were silent. She turned off the main corridor and wandered down another, at the end of which stood a pair of double doors, bolted. She motioned with her hand and a coil of green light flew out from her fingers. It spiraled through the keyhole and around the handles; a moment later, the doors sprang open. Beyond was the main balcony directly above the castle gates.
She enjoyed the serenity of near dawn and gazed out across the sleeping city, bathed in the palest moonlight. Te’Roek had been her home her entire life and she had lived in the castle for as long as she could remember. From the age of eight, Kayte had known that the gift lying dormant in her family had blossomed within her. She had spent countless hours in solitude trying to practice simple spells and incantations, concentrating with every ounce of her being. It took her only six months to produce her first ball of fire, a spell that quickly spread far beyond her control. She remembered the feeling of panic as she had tried in vain to suppress the unnatural fire. She had screamed for help and had attempted to stamp out the flames, but no matter what she tried, it had refused to abate. But then Markus Taal had arrived. Not taking his eyes off the young Kayte, he had made a grand sweeping motion with his arms and quenched the fire in an instant.
“I was wondering how long it would take,” he had said, smiling. “Would you like me to teach you how to control that wonderful gift of yours, my dear?”
Though twenty years had passed since that day, Kayte felt as though she still had much to learn. Varren’s power had been demonstrated when he had lured the gate wardens out from the safety of the castle and murdered them. Though she had read about mind control, the idea of it repeled her too much to want to try it on another. Yet Varren must have mastered it. If this was the man she was destined to face, how could she possibly prepare herself? Her dreams were filled with scenarios – Te’Roek city streets, the castle, a forest glen, a ruined house, the deck of a ship in a terrible storm – each with her failing to better him.
Again, she tried to push these thoughts away. She leaned out over the balustrade, listening to the quiet sound of the monastery bell tolling from the tower, a few calming notes lingering in the air. The bell rang softly each night but Kayte was ignorant of what it signaled; perhaps some ritual was about to begin or a new apprentice had been initiated. Emil would know.
The shaman was a great source of information. They had spent many years of their youth together. He had been very intelligent, even at twenty-one, and she had listened to his stories in awe, believing him to be the most learned man who had ever lived. His hair had been long and braided even in his younger days, but he had been clean-shaven then and his face free of the criss-crossing scars and lines of many years of service in the Circle. Kayte could remember clearly the first time Emil had attended a Circle meeting. The table in the meeting room had been much smaller then. Queen Zennia had sat at the head, Princess Sorcha on her right and Markus Taal on her left. Kayte had been placed next to Markus and Emil had taken the seat opposite her. He had lowered himself into the chair uncertainly and remained there for only a few minutes. But, curiously, he had risen and opted to stand behind his chair instead, and so it had been ever since, for ten long years.
“You don’t sit down in our meetings,” Kayte had pointed out later.
“Sitting makes me uneasy,” he had replied. “I can act faster on my feet.”
“You really expect something to happen in such a guarded fortress?”
“Anything can happen anywhere.”
Kayte smiled. They had been firm friends ever since, though most would not recognize their relationship as anything more than mutual respect. Emil remained distant and engaging him in conversation was as much a challenge now as it had ever been.
Withdrawing from the balcony, she motioned for the double doors to shut and lock with another coil of green light. She made her way to the courtyard and sat on a bench under the canopy of a great old oak, listening to the sounds of the wind rustling the new leaves and a solitary nightbird cooing in the branches above. Nobody was stirring in the castle yet; she could not even smell the scent of fresh bread from the kitchens.
Suddenly, there was an unfamiliar noise: a hiss, very low and quiet, but definitely not a trick of the wind. She focused on it, keeping perfectly still. There was movement between the shadowed columns that lined the courtyard and Kayte watched its progress. The figure walked slowly, hunched like an old man. She stood up quietly and ducked behind the trunk of a nearby tree, keeping the shape in sight. She watched as it passed across a pale shaft of moonlight. It was not human. It reached the stairs and paused, growling softly in its throat and sniffing deeply. Kayte crept across the grass, slid behind a column and then hurried to the next. She could smell the scent of strong magic and realized that only two people could control a creature such as this, and Angora was still missing.
*
Tiderius pulled on his boots in the darkness of his room. A loud bang had awoken him. He grabbed his surcoat on the way out, ran to the nearest staircase and leaped down the steps, fastening the cords at his front and adjusting his weapons belt. At the bottom, he rushed to the balustrade and looked down into the courtyard. Kayte flew into view, throwing balls of blue flame in the dappled moonlight below.
Tiderius took to the stairs again, moving as fast as he could, hastening to Queen Sorcha’s private chambers on the second floor. He reached the door and wrenched it open just as Markus Taal was emerging from his own room, looking utterly confused.
“Kayte’s down in the courtyard,” Tiderius said breathlessly. “There’s someone in the castle grounds.” Without waiting to hear what Markus might say in return, he dashed into the queen’s room, crossed the generous living space and stood in the doorway to her bedchambers. “Your Majesty?”
“What is happening?” the queen asked, flinging the covers off the large bed and reaching blindly for her dressing gown.
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“Pardon my intrusion, but there’s someone in the castle,” Tiderius said.
“Is she safe?” Emil asked, rushing in with Markus at his heel.
“Quite,” Sorcha replied.
“Then we must hunt down the intruder.”
“I shall guard the queen,” Markus said, planting himself firmly in the doorway to the royal quarters. “Tiderius, with Emil. Go, now!”
The shaman nodded, turned and hurried out, Tiderius only a few steps behind him. At the stairs, he came to a skidding halt, seeing Aiyla hurrying toward him, still wearing her nightgown, her face white with fright.
“Tiderius!” she cried. “There are summoned creatures inside the castle!”
“That can only mean that Vrór is here!” he exclaimed and cursed loudly. “I have to get down there.”
When Tiderius reached the courtyard, he heard a loud growl to his left and instinctively ducked, dodging a barrage of blue flame hurtling his way from Kayte’s outstretched hands. He drew his sword and skirted around the wall, putting as much distance between the animal and himself as he could. There was another crack and flash as a flurry of tiny icicles flew at the animal from Emil’s sprayed fingers. A moment later, the creature uttered a strangled cry before disintegrating in an explosion of gold particles.
“They’re coming from the main entrance hall,” Kayte said.
“How many?” Tiderius asked as they crossed the courtyard together.
“I’ve killed two so far, and then that one. He keeps sending them out. Come on!”
When they entered the high-ceilinged entrance hall, two creatures darted out from an adjoining corridor and headed straight for them, teeth sharp and glistening with lethal saliva. Emil raised both arms and hurled a small tornado of churning air toward the first, knocking it back. Kayte flung balls of flickering flame at the second and, with cries of agony, the burning beast blasted apart.