by Cole Pain
They were linked so well their hands had melted together, forming an impenetrable circle, a circle not of hundreds but of one: one mind, and now one body. Marva shivered.
The magic they had conjured cast them in a pale orange glow that hovered a hand’s width from them and then abruptly stopped. Nothing Presario had tried could penetrate it. Instead of attacking, Ista had chosen a shield of protection.
Marva turned her attention to the conversation behind her.
“There has to be something we can do! Nothing is impenetrable,” Ramie said, trying to shroud his panic. “We haven’t thought through every contingency. A weakness has to exist!”
“There’s a weakness,” Presario said, “but we can’t reach it.”
Marva stepped forward, curious. Beside her, Renee lifted her head and looked at Presario with a twinge of hope.
“What do you mean?”
Presario nodded toward the circle of men. “Ista has formed a conglomerate weave. One of the men you see originated it. He is the weak link, the vulnerable link, but there are hundreds of the Collective forming this weave. We cannot with any certainty distinguish the weak link from any other. Hence we cannot focus our attack, and if we can’t focus our attack, we’ll be unable to penetrate the circle.”
Ramie turned to the circle, eyes conveying his panic. “So we just try each one until we find the link.”
Presario heaved a sigh and shook his head. The light of the fire played on his face, making his flesh appear to be melting once again. Marva barely took notice of Presario’s wounds. To her they were strangely beautiful.
“That would take years, centuries even. A conglomerate weave is acutely unique magic. Once you discover the link you have to discover its vulnerability. By this I mean there will be a slight marring, a slight characteristic of the link that’s contradictory.
“Take that one there.” Presario pointed to the man Marva had been studying. “He appears whole but there’s something peculiar about him. I’ve been examining him for a sun’s click and have just now identified his idiosyncrasy.”
Marva nodded. She had noticed an oddity as well. “One pupil is larger than the other.”
“Yes. That’s his weakness. If he was the link no magic directed at him would destroy him, no sword could penetrate the shield surrounding him, unless that sword hit the exact air pocket that led to his eye, his one vulnerability. All other areas of his body are now the conglomerate and unbreakable.
“That’s the power of a conglomerate weave. You have to ferret the link, espy the flaw, and hit the exact air pocket leading to that flaw. Even if you did the first two, the third would be virtually impossible. The weaver can link random air pockets to the flaw. The air pocket that finally touches the flaw in the eye need not necessarily be directly facing the eye. It could be anywhere near the body.
“And the weaver doesn’t just give a flaw to the link but to every person in the weave so the enemy will have to search each man to find his vulnerability and try to destroy him before approaching the next man. But to find the link, the vulnerability, and the air pocket …” Presario’s voice dwindled in the twilight. The crackling fire seemed too lively in the following silence.
Marva turned back to the glowing circle and stepped up to the next man, determined to find his vulnerability. The fury she carried boiled just beneath the surface. Behind her, she heard Ramie’s muffled cursing but ignored him. She had grown used to Ramie’s outbursts and paid about as much attention to them as a fly on the wall.
“You mentioned the weaver. Is the weaver the same as the link?”
Marva turned to Renee. She hadn’t given the weaver Presario mentioned a second thought. The queen may have discovered something. All eyes turned to Presario, eagerly awaiting his reply.
Presario shook his head. “No. Although there’s someone in the conglomerate who originates the weave, another, free of the conglomerate, must weave the magic.”
“Ista.” Ramie almost spat the word.
“I don’t think so,” Lazo said. The triplet stood a short distance from the fire, hands clasped behind his back. He had traded his black advisor’s robe for a rust-colored tunic and cream trousers. The clothes still looked out of place on the man, but the look in Lazo’s eyes left no doubt that his attire was the only feature he had sacrificed to the Mar.
“Ista wants to tap into the power of the Red Eye. She wouldn’t deplete her strength to form the conglomerate. She would use one of the Collective as the weaver. Besides, Ista is a sorceress, let us not forget. Though powerful, she would be unable to control the conglomerate at whim. She must plan for things well in advance. This was something she didn’t foresee. As I said, she ignored us until she saw we could use magic. She couldn’t have woven her emotions so quickly. A man, a strong one, is assisting her.”
Aaron’s brow furrowed. “But magic like this must take years of training. Could one of the Collective actually weave this? So soon?”
Lazo’s contrasting eyes flickered to Aaron. “No, but someone from her camp could, someone who has had years of training.”
“And if we could kill this weaver, would the conglomerate weave be broken?” The hope had returned to Ramie’s voice.
“Yes.”
Ramie grinned. “The tunnels.”
Lazo nodded again.
“I’ll summon some men.” Just as Ramie turned to shout orders, Lazo put a hand on his arm.
“My lord, we must send the women.”
Ramie’s eyes darted to Manda, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. Manda’s green eyes ignored the king and flickered to Marva and Renee. If Marva wasn’t mistaken, she saw a slight smile on Manda’s lips. She felt her own begin as well.
Heat rose to Ramie’s face. “I’ll hear of no such thing!”
“The Collective on the wall, my king, and the Collective surrounding the keep are all male. Ista doesn’t use women, and she pays little attention to them. Only a woman will be able to pass through the castle without notice. The women are the only chance we have.”
- - -
Manda touched the snood encircling her head. Lazo had seen some women wearing the coverings to hide their baldness before he left the castle. It was the perfect disguise.
In front of her, the queen took a passage to her right. Manda brushed her hand against the cold stone of the tunnels. They had finally reached the walls of the castle. Every so often hollow laughter or soft voices wafted to them. But the sounds were sparse. Ista seemed to be using every able body in the keep to work her magic.
They had agreed to use the entrance in Ren’s closet because Manda had used it once before. It was also near the servant’s staircase, allowing them quick access to the other floors.
For the thousandth time, Manda recalled Presario’s words. The weaver would be a man, in a state of confusion, almost unconscious from the strain, but conscious enough to speak. His eyes may be clouded, and his hands may be hot. Look for one who appears near death, Presario had said, and kill him.
They would separate and search the castle: Manda the lower reaches, Renee the middle, and Marva the upper. After each had swept her floor, they were to regroup, and if nothing had been found try again.
Renee stopped. Manda bumped into her and mumbled a quick apology. She could hear Marva’s quick breaths right behind her. Manda worried Marva would give them away. Marva had the temper of a wet cat in heat, and if something went awry, Manda was sure Marva would kill first and ask questions later.
Ramie had warned Marva to keep calm, but Manda knew Marva listened to the king of Yor about as much as she did. Ramie was the epitome of a king: pompous, arrogant, and demanding. Manda deemed him completely unsalvageable.
Renee pointed to the wall beside her and lifted her eyebrows. Manda looked down the passage to get her bearings. Looking back into the queen’s eyes, Manda nodded.
Renee put her hand in a small indention that formed a handle and placed her cheek against the wood. After a brief pause, Renee
shook her head.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I hear nothing.”
A sudden snore ripped through the air. They each exchanged glances. A soft ‘click’ echoed in the corridor as Renee snapped the passage door open and stepped into the narrow closet.
Another snore echoed around them. Beside her, Marva mumbled something about Quinton. Manda motioned for her to keep silent.
Renee moved to the cracked closet door. Manda held her breath as Renee pushed the door open and ducked inside.
The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were scattered on the floor, curtains were stained and ripped from greedy hands, and the large red couch standing in the far corner was covered with dirt and grime.
The rotund man reclining on the couch was naked and uncovered. His mop of dark hair marked him as a mere servant and not one of the Collective. When they saw the empty whiskey bottle at his feet none of them gave the man a second glance. He would be unconscious for a long time. They passed him quickly, stepping over that night’s dinner, and paused at the door. After listening for voices, they stepped into the hall.
Renee’s eyes flashed between them. It was a queen’s order to hurry. Manda and Marva nodded, well aware time was of the essence. Renee pointed them down the hall to the servant’s staircase before trotting in the opposite direction. Manda and Marva hurried down the hall, eager to reach the stairs that would lead them to the upper and lower reaches of the keep. Before they made it to the stairs, two guards rounded the corner.
They were in a hurry, sure to be on a mission for Ista. When the men saw them they paused and glanced at each other. A silent exchange passed between them. Manda could sense Marva tense beside her. She mumbled for Marva to remain calm.
The men stopped, waiting for them to approach. The dark one put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Haven’t you heard Ista’s orders,” he said. “All Collective women are to meet her by the New Alcazar. Why are you still here?”
“We’re going to meet her now,” Marva said. “But it’s hard when two oafs are blocking your passage.”
Manda silently praised Marva’s quick mind. She would have only managed a choppy apology.
The dark one grinned. His teeth were crooked, a few of them rotten. “Well, if that’s true you’re walking in the wrong direction.” His grin faltered. “Don’t I know you?”
Marva stiffened, but her voice didn’t betray her unease. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of my acquaintance.”
The guard perused Marva’s build. When his eyes flickered back to her face, they were glittering dangerously. “Yes I do,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Marva’s arm. “You’re the woman from the cell block, the one who escaped with the crown prince.”
Before Manda could reach for her concealed sword the other guard had pinned her against the wall. The guard with the rotten teeth laughed. Manda panicked. It couldn’t be over so soon. She tried to reach for her power, but her panic had drowned her rage. She was at their mercy.
The guard rubbed places that brought back memories of Bort. A low moan escaped her lips as the terror of the hands came back in a maddening rush. The man forced her to her knees as his snickers escalated. When he leaned into her, she tried to fight, but with the way he had her pinned she only succeeded in hurting herself.
Just as she thought the terror of her memories might overwhelm her, the guard heaved a grunt and collapsed on the ground. The snickers were suddenly silenced.
When Manda turned, Marva stood above her, long dagger in hand, blue eyes glowing with molten fury. Both guards lay on the floor, blood pooling by their sides. Manda stood and nodded her thanks. But now they had to hurry. The men’s bodies would be discovered soon enough. The woman exchanged glances before they turned and went their separate ways.
When Manda reached the halls of the lower reaches she had to blink in shock. The once glistening Razon castle had been plundered. Dirt and grime coated the black floor. Golden statures and ornaments were few and far between, and when they did appear they were tarnished and broken. Clothes and packs lined the halls. A few children wandered aimlessly around their possessions, but no one else could be seen.
Manda quickly made her way down the hall. The children eyed her with wide-eyed stares. Their bald heads froze her blood. She almost felt Ista peering through the children’s eyes, watching her progress down the desecrated hall.
Shaking that thought off she concentrated on the task at hand. But everywhere she walked she saw no sign of life. All the men were in the conglomerate. All the women were meeting with Ista. The castle was deserted.
After skirting the main portion of the floor, Manda turned down a side corridor. A large iron door appeared a few cubits down the hall. Manda froze. They had forgotten about the dungeon when they had assigned floors. Manda paused. Surely Ista wouldn’t use anyone in the dungeon as the weaver. Then again, if Ista wanted to hide someone what better way to keep him out of harm’s way than by placing him in the dungeon? Manda pried open the heavy door and made her way down the stairs.
Torches lined the stairwell every ten paces. Because of their distance there were times Manda couldn’t see the stairs beneath her. Keeping her hands on the damp wall, she descended slowly, listening for any sound. She heard nothing, and the deeper she went the more foolish her idea seemed to become.
When the stairs ended the empty cells to her right whispered of her folly, and the stench warned her that if she did find someone it would only be a dead man. She jumped back as a large rat scampered past, unafraid of her approach. A few soft scrapings told her more awaited her in the distance.
Sure the only things living in the dungeon were creatures of the four-legged kind, Manda quickly walked by empty cell after empty cell, but as she approached the last cellblock a shimmer of gold caught her eye. She stepped back into the shadows, but there was no need. The man who lay near the bars of the last cell was as still as death. His golden hair shimmered in the torchlight as if a halo were stationed above him. It appeared as if he had been sent from the Elysium only to land in the gates of the Abyss.
A few rats sat by his feet, feasting on the tender flesh at his ankles. Manda clenched her jaw. The man before her was an enemy of Ista. That made him her friend.
“Shoo!” she said, clapping her hands. The two rats glanced up but quickly went back to their task. She stepped forward. “Shoo!” This time the rats scampered a few paces from the man. Manda’s determination deepened and she strode forward. The rates scurried away, but she could see their eyes shinning in the dim torchlight patiently waiting her departure.
The man hadn’t stirred. Manda crouched before him and reached through the bars to feel for a pulse.
It was racing. And his skin was hot to the touch.
Manda drew a deep breath as Presario’s words came back to her. The weaver would appear near death, in a state of confusion. His eyes may be clouded and his skin may be hot as his mind burned under the strain of the conglomerate weaving.
Manda recoiled. The heat the man radiated repulsed her. She shifted so the torchlight could play on the man’s features. She had to see his eyes. She had to be sure. When the light hit his face, Manda froze.
His eyes were a deep, midnight blue. And although they were unfocused, clouded, clearly the eyes of the weaver, the emotions they held took every breath from her lungs. They were filled with repulsion and horror. This man hated what he now did. And he hated himself.
But Manda did not. Manda knew him and loved him.
Manda released a soft cry, remembering the weaver’s eyes at another time, boring into her, imploring her to fight, entreating her for forgiveness for only being able to do so much.
It was Korin. The man had been her salvation when her father had betrayed her. He had given her the dagger that ultimately set her free. With the dagger, Manda had broken free just in time to save her brother. With the dagger, she had taken Yov’s life.
Somehow Korin had denied Ista, but he had been di
scovered, locked in the dungeon, and forced to weave the magic Ista now used to keep the armies at bay.
Manda couldn’t kill him. There had to be another way. Manda’s resolve deepened as she reached in and grabbed his hand. This time she didn’t recoil.
“Please, I want to help you,” she said. “Speak to me.”
Korin’s eyes wavered. They were filled with a pain Manda knew well: the pain of rape, to be stripped of pride and forced to do something against your will. He had been raped his entire life, and his eyes held the horror … and the guilt.
“No.” Manda placed a hand on his feverish cheek. “You’re not to blame.”
Korin forced a small smile. “You’re safe, my lady. I hoped it would be so.”
His voice was soft, but filled with so much caring it echoed in her heart like a chiming bell. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. His pulse raced faster. He couldn’t hold his concentration much longer.
“Tell me how to break the conglomerate.”
“My lady, to break the conglomerate you must kill me.”
Manda shook her head. “No. Tell me who the link is. Quickly.”
“No time,” he said softly. “You have to kill me. It’s the only way.”
Manda lowered her voice, taking a chance. “Then Ista has won, because I refuse to kill you.”
Korin closed his eyes. A small bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. “Please, my lady.”
“It’s my turn to help you, as you helped me. Tell me who the link is. Quickly.”
A small hope flickered in Korin’s eyes, but it quickly blinked out as the magnitude of her request settled over him. “The link stands near the gate, the fourth from the entrance. He’s taller than the others, with dark eyes and a red beard.” Korin paused and forced another small grin. “Ista controlled the magic through me, but she couldn’t control whom I chose as the link. I chose someone close to the gate so your armies would have a chance.” He closed his eyes again, muscles straining.