Outside the cave, the moonlit sky was clear. Alia raised her arms, and clouds seemed to congeal out of the heavens.
“Power without limit!” cried Alia, and the clouds began to move in a slow spiral. Lightning flashed within them. “Unconstrained! Terrifying!” she cried, before shouting out a long series of incomprehensible words, each spoken with unmistakable rage. Lightning flared like none of them had ever seen before – tinged purple and red, it spread out in shapes like claws, bathing the whole forest in irate light.
She lowered her arms. Gradually, the lightning faded, and the clouds vanished. The lamps within the cave grew bright once more. She turned to Tobias and heaved a deep sigh. “Is that fear I see in your eyes?” she said to him. “I don’t know what hurts me more. That you broke your word, or that you kept it for so long. That you really believed I could hurt you, of all people. You really did fear me.”
Tobias suddenly looked rather fragile. “I kept my vow,” he said. “I left you alone. But not because I feared you. I did it because you asked me to.” She said nothing in reply, only looked at him with sadness. Tobias put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s…it’s good to see you again.”
Alia seemed dazed for a moment. Then she stepped away, letting his hand fall from her. “I half-expected a visit from someone,” she said. “Given what happened at Tiviscan.”
“You heard about the attack?” said Tobias.
She nodded. “A little bird told me. I’m not surprised Drevis didn’t come. I might have killed him.”
“It was the Council who expelled you, Alia, and that was before Drevis was one of them. He was always on your side. And while Casimir was your greatest champion, don’t forget that Rundel was also outspoken in your defence.”
“Ah,” she said. “Rundel.” She let out a long sigh. “I suppose I can’t let the old goat die, if I can help it. Back to the business in hand, then. Tell me what happened.”
Tobias nodded. “His Apprentice brought him to me, close to death. My strongest healing Songs have kept him alive, but are unable to deal with the poison.” He went to the cave entrance, where his horse was tied, and fetched the jar containing the metal box. “Here,” he said, handing her the jar. “This is how it was inflicted.”
Alia held the jar up. “Enigma enicatus,” she said.
Tobias nodded. “A death puzzle. Rundel said if we identify its targets, we might identify the attacker.”
“An enigma enicatus is a booby-trapped magical device,” said Alia. “Difficult to make.” She opened the jar and passed her hand over the top, back and forth. “Mmm. The style of the spells within it is unusual. You should take this to Ural. It’s a very engineered form of sorcery. It’d be right up his alley. He might recognize the style, and point you to its creator. He knows much more about the Sorcerers of the world than I do.” Tobias looked immediately wary. “Good Lord, Tobias, what is it?”
“Ural is dead,” said Tobias. “Bludgeoned, without witnesses to what happened. Rundel was called to investigate, and was poisoned by the box when he picked it up.”
Alia was stunned. “Ural Casimir, dead?” She closed her eyes, visibly distressed by the news. After a moment she opened her eyes again, and Patch could see they were wet. “Come,” she said, venturing to a table beside her trunk of potions. “We must investigate the box.”
The others followed, but Patch found himself frozen for a moment, distracted by a sudden realization. He’d thought the name Ural was familiar, and now he knew why. It was Ural Casimir, the Sorcerer Engineer. One of the Eight!
And there was something else he’d thought of, something that was surely impossible, but which made him look at Tobias and Alia with fresh eyes.
Wren jabbed his cheek. Snap out of it, she signed. They’re waiting for us.
He nodded without a word, and went to join them.
Alia handed out pieces of rag to Tobias, Madder and Patch, and took one herself. “Each of you must spit in your rag,” she said, and as they did she went to a corner where a hunk of cured meat sat. She cut some pieces from the meat and returned. “You first,” she said to Patch. She took his rag, and wiped his spit over the surface of one piece of meat. Then, using a pair of tongs, she thrust the meat into the jar and pressed it against the box. Nothing happened. “Now you,” she said to Madder. She repeated the process, and again there was no reaction.
“Can you be sure this works, Alia?” said Tobias.
“Hush!” she said. She took the rag from Tobias and wiped it over the third piece of meat. This time, when she pressed it to the box there was an audible click. She pulled the tongs away just in time to see a small needle disappear back into the metal surface. Black liquid dripped from the meat. She gave Tobias a dark look, and then tried her own spit with the last piece. Again, the click, and the meat was injected with poison. “As I feared,” she said. “The targets include Rundel and the two of us. I give you one guess who else might be a target.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Tobias, giving Patch and the others a wary look. Alia saw the expression on his face and nodded. To Patch, the meaning was obvious: let’s not talk in front of them. His suspicions grew almost to the point of bursting out of him, but he held his tongue.
“Now to identify what the substance is,” said Alia. “Give me a moment.” She took samples of the black poison from the pieces of meat, then added various liquids from vials she took down from the nearest shelf. A few minutes later, she nodded with satisfaction. “Moon-rot,” she said. “A nasty fungus, but the effect has been enhanced with sorcery as you suspected. No wonder your Song couldn’t quite deal with it.” She hunted through the vials in her trunk and selected one containing a bright purple liquid. “Aha!” she announced, standing up. “This should do it.” She took a long metal rod and touched it to the black poison, then swirled the rod in the purple liquid. The colour immediately changed to green. “This must remain absolutely still for at least eight hours,” she said, placing the vial in a tiny stand on the table. “By then it will have transmuted fully, and Rundel’s cure will be complete. I’ll come with you to Marwheel long enough to administer it, Tobias, not a moment longer. He’ll remain unconscious for a week, perhaps two, but he should live.”
“Thank you, Alia,” said Tobias. Brother Madder offered out the pouch of money he’d reclaimed from the brigand leader.
“No, no,” said Alia. “Keep it. You have need of it, I know, running your infirmary. You’ve been treating a firefoot outbreak recently, haven’t you? And doing a fine job, too.”
“You know about that?” said Tobias.
Alia grinned. “Oh yes, I’ve kept my eye on you, Palafox.”
That was it – Patch couldn’t hold it in any more. “Palafox!” he barked. “I knew it! I knew it!”
“Oh,” said Alia, wide-eyed. “Damn.”
Barver and Wren were staring at Patch. You knew what? signed Wren.
“Palafox, Corrigan, Kellenfas, Stone…” recited Patch. “Casimir, Hinkelman, Drevis and Throne.” Barver and Wren gave him bemused looks, but Tobias and Alia were watching him warily. “The names of the Eight,” said Patch. “Kellenfas, Hinkelman and Throne died in the quest. Of the survivors, we have Drevis, now a Lord of the Pipers’ Council. We have Stone, now a Virtus in the Custodian Elite. The other three sought new lives, away from the fame that their quest had brought. First, Casimir, the Sorcerer Engineer. Who does that leave?”
“Palafox and Corrigan,” said Barver. “What are you saying?” He looked to Wren, and Wren shook her head and shrugged.
Patch heaved a sigh. “You two should have paid more attention to the tales of the Eight! Don’t you know their first names?”
“Mmm,” said Barver. “The stories only mention them once, but I think I do. Let’s see…Palafox’s name was T—” His mouth dropped open and he stared at Tobias. Then he stared at Alia. Then he fainted, crushing a chair.
Wren was staring too. No way, she signed.
Patch gestured to To
bias. “Tobias Palafox, Hero of the Battle Elite.” He gestured to Alia. “Alia Corrigan, the Great Piper of Shielding Songs!”
And Rundel Stone’s dead friend— signed Wren.
Patch nodded. “—was Ural Casimir, the Sorcerer Engineer.”
Barver was back on his feet, looking groggy.
Patch looked at Tobias and Alia. “That’s why you’re all old friends,” he said. “You were all members of the Eight. And someone’s trying to kill you!”
Barver fainted again, narrowly missing a table.
“We don’t know that for certain,” said Tobias.
“I think it’s clear!” scoffed Alia. “Someone finally decided to get rid of us, the last of the Eight. We ruffled too many feathers in our quest, and stepped on too many toes!”
“We did make enemies,” said Tobias, sounding oddly proud.
Alia nodded. “We did,” she said. She looked at Patch and frowned. “And now you know our secret. You must choose: swear to tell no one, or die in terrible pain.”
“The first one,” said Patch quickly; Wren gave an emphatic nod.
“A good choice,” said Alia. She nudged Barver with her foot, but he didn’t stir. “That goes for you too,” she said. “Unconsciousness is no excuse.” Finally she turned to Brother Madder. “And what about you?”
Madder smiled. “I’m an old friend of Tobias, ma’am,” he said. “I knew him before the Eight set off on their quest. I’ve never betrayed his secret. And if I can be open, while Tobias has never told me the Witch’s true identity, I’d come to that conclusion some years ago.”
“Really?” said Alia, her eyes narrowing.
“Indeed,” said Madder. “Whenever Tobias had a little too much brandy, and someone mentioned the Witch of Gemspar Mountain, or the name of Alia Corrigan, it was never long until Tobias spoke of a mysterious lost love, his voice filled with longing and sorrow. But you can trust me to keep it to myself, ma’am.”
Tobias’s cheeks were reddening.
Alia blinked for a moment, then coughed. “Well then,” she said, and took a deep breath. Once she’d composed herself, she rubbed her hands together with purpose. “Glad that’s all settled. We’ll start out for Marwheel when Rundel’s potion is ready, but in the meantime we have a certain curse to deal with! I must prepare!” She looked at Wren. “It’s your turn, little one. Don’t think I forgot you!”
Wren started to tremble. Patch rubbed the top of her head to reassure her.
“Have faith!” said Alia. “Ural Casimir saw that I had even more potential as a Sorcerer than as a Piper. Oh, Ural…how can you be gone?” She looked up to the moon, tears in her eyes. She wiped them away. “He believed in me. It was my destiny. Even though the Council declared me a witch and cast me out, I don’t regret it one bit.”
“Can we do anything to help you get ready?” said Patch.
Alia nodded. “We need a large fire, as big as you can make it. Take lamps into the forest, all of you, and fetch as much wood as you can. I’ll start my preparations.” She went further back inside the cave, where the shelves were laden with books, and began to consult her texts.
Patch and Wren looked at Barver, who was still out cold.
Leave me on the table next to him, signed Wren, and Patch did, taking a lamp and following Tobias and Madder outside.
After a minute or so, Barver’s eyes opened. He sat up suddenly in near-panic. “Someone’s killing the Eight!” he said. “One by one!” He blinked and looked around. “Where did everyone go?”
Wren gave him an affectionate smile. Welcome back, big fella, she signed. Now go and get me some firewood!
There was plenty of dry wood among the creepy gnarled trees in Alia’s part of the forest. Barver’s contribution to the wood gathering dwarfed that of anyone else, which was no surprise given that he could carry half a dozen actual tree trunks on each trip. It wasn’t long before they’d assembled the bonfire a safe distance from the cave entrance and Alia’s garden. The wood took flame readily, and soon the bonfire was well ablaze.
Alia came out of the cave carrying a small leather pouch, paper and some thin pieces of charcoal. She got everyone to sit facing the fire, then stepped closer to it and spoke a few garbled words. Taking a handful of some kind of powder from her pouch, she cried out in a high-pitched warbling voice and threw the powder at the flames.
There was a vast plume of yellow smoke, alive with sparks.
Alia walked to where Patch sat, with Wren on his shoulder as usual. The others were a few feet behind them, watching with interest. “Right!” said Alia, looking at Patch. She set down the paper and gripped a piece of charcoal. “I need background on Wren, please. You’re her friend. You can speak this—” She waved her hands around madly.
“Merisax hand speech,” said Patch.
“Oh yes!” said Alia. “That’s it! I never quite got around to learning it. Go ahead, then. Ask her how this curse came about. I’ll take notes.” She was poised with her charcoal on the page.
“Oh, she’s told me the story a few times now,” said Patch. “She’s the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, and last summer she was kidnapped by a Sorcerer and forced to work as a maid in his castle. She tried to escape, and blam!”
“Rat curse!” said Alia.
Patch and Wren both nodded.
“Where was this castle?” said Alia. “What was the Sorcerer’s name?”
Patch looked to Wren, who’d never told him those details. She signed, and he translated. “The village of Axlebury,” he said. “The Sorcerer’s name is Underath.”
“Okay,” said Alia, writing it down. “What we must do is look for a chink in the construction of the curse. If we find something to pick at, we can try and build a counter-curse. We may be able to shatter the curse outright, but I make no guarantees. Building a spell, a hex, a curse – these are similar to layering the parts of a Piper’s Song. Building a counter-spell requires those layers to be understood, to allow them to be cancelled out. First I need something of yours, little rat. Hair and nail.” She produced a pair of sharp scissors, and Wren flinched. “Don’t worry, I won’t take much.” Patch held Wren gently as Alia snipped a tiny bit of fur from her back. “Now, your paw.” Wren held her paw out, trembling, and Alia cut the very tip from one claw. She put the clippings into a small square of paper, then folded it into a little parcel. “That’ll do,” said Alia. She handed the parcel to Wren. “You must throw it into the flames!”
Patch stood and carried Wren as close to the fire as the fierce heat would allow. She threw the parcel, but it fell short.
“I’ve got it,” said Patch. He set Wren down and stepped forward; braving the severe heat he grabbed the little parcel and went to throw it into the fire himself.
“Wait, she’s the one who has to—” started Alia, but Patch had already let go and the paper was in flames. Alia shook her head as Patch came back with Wren and sat down. “Oh, fine. Ignore me, I’m just the expert.” The fire erupted into more smoke, white this time, the sparks filling the cloud with an astonishing range of colours. Alia smiled. “Oooh, hang on! We’ve got lucky!” She gripped her piece of charcoal, ready to take notes, then turned to the others behind them, who were whispering. “Shush!” she said. “It’s starting!”
Everyone looked on in awe as the coloured sparks in the fire began to gather into something recognizable.
A tiny run-down cottage in the midst of rolling fields.
“Wren!” came a voice, and Patch almost jumped. But the voice was from the fire, booming loud; suddenly a woman’s face appeared, kind and concerned. “Where are you going, young lady?”
And there she was, a girl of thirteen – Wren, as she used to be. Earnest and smiling, she wore a long skirt, which was a little threadbare, striped with rings of red and white. Patch looked at the red-ringed tail of his rat friend and knew it was no coincidence.
“Mum,” said Wren. “The time’s come for me to get work. I know how hard things are for you and Dad, and I’m a
n extra mouth to feed. I have a plan, and I won’t be talked out of it!”
Wren’s mother hugged her. “How I wish it wasn’t so,” she said. “Don’t be gone too long.”
“Six months at most,” said Wren. “I’ll save as much of my pay as I can!”
The smoke from the fire darkened.
Patch gave Wren – the rat Wren, on his shoulder – a pointed look. “Daughter of a wealthy nobleman?” he whispered. She was staring at the fire, looking mortified.
“Shhhh!” hissed Alia. “We’ll miss something!”
The smoke lit up again, to show human-Wren walking through the countryside, a determined expression on her face. In the distance was a castle – far smaller than Tiviscan Castle, but impressive all the same. The viewpoint changed, and now Wren was at the castle door, knocking.
A weary-looking middle-aged man, dressed in an elaborate robe, opened the door and peeked out. “Yes?” he said.
“You are Underath, the Sorcerer?” said Wren.
“I am.”
“Sir, I was hoping to offer my services as a maid.”
Underath looked astonished. “I’ve been seeking staff here for twenty years. Nobody’s ever come before.”
“I’m here,” said Wren. “Do you wish to hire me? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” said Underath. “But be prepared! Of the hundred rooms in the castle I use only four. Those four are filthy with use, and the rest are filthy with neglect! Pick any bedroom you choose; keep yourself to yourself. The kitchen is always well stocked. Can you cook?”
“I can.”
Underath seemed elated at the idea. “Good, for I cannot! I’ve been living on salted meats and cheese and bread and wine. Cook whatever you will, and I’ll be grateful to end the monotony. Come!”
The view changed again. They now stood on a high wall that ran round a courtyard, in the middle of which was a large dark-grey griffin. It looked up at the two humans with a wary eye.
A Darkness of Dragons Page 16