Sienne looked at the chain attached to her right wrist. She folded her fingers and tried to touch the manacle, but it was out of reach. She could still cast invulnerability on something she couldn’t touch, but it took longer and wasn’t as precise. She focused her attention on the links just above the manacle, pictured the magic wrapping around them, weakening the chain. Surreptitiously she tugged on it, and felt no give. Well, she wasn’t strong enough to break an iron chain, even a weakened one. She wondered in passing where her spellbook was. If she had that, this woman wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
“But are you certain none of the others will try to take the throne for themselves?” Perrin was saying. Are you ready, Sienne?
Ready.
“I have the advantage of being prepared for this event,” Lady Nerus said, “and I—”
Chains rattled. Men Sienne couldn’t see shouted, and she heard the thump of weapons hitting the ground. A high, shrill whinny shook the air. Lady Nerus’s eyes went wide, and she staggered backward into Dianthe’s arms, dropping the artifact, which hit the floor with a dull chime. The unicorn came around the fold in the stone, his massive body maneuvering into position with his hindquarters facing Sienne. In that moment, she figured out the plan. She stretched her arm to its limit, pulling the chain taut, closed her eyes and turned her head away. Please don’t let him miss.
A breath of air whooshed past her face, and something cracked hard against the stone just inches from her ear with a tone like a chiming bell. Her arm fell loose to her side. She opened her eyes, but Alaric had already moved on, rearing up to strike down a guard whose sword was raised. In the next moment, he was human again, snatching up the fallen man’s sword and bringing it up to block the next man’s swing.
Sienne scrabbled the pin of the other manacle free and raced to Kalanath’s side. He was up and balanced on the balls of his feet, his attention focused on Alaric’s fight. Sienne freed him and he darted away. Sienne moved to Dianthe. Dianthe had Lady Nerus in a chokehold, her eyes fierce and her lips moving in a constant stream of muttered invective. As Sienne hovered, wondering what to do, Lady Nerus went limp, and Dianthe dropped her and held out her hands for Sienne to remove the manacles. “That felt good,” Dianthe said.
“I can imagine. Where’s Perrin?”
“Just over there. Did he speak to you?”
“Yes. How did he—”
“I’m trying not to be too hopeful.” Dianthe shook her head and massaged her wrist. “Go free him. I’ll keep an eye on the bitch.”
Sienne hugged the wall, staying out of the way of the fight and hoping no armed guard would notice her. Perrin sat cross-legged against the wall, his arms extended above his head and his eyes closed. Sienne fumbled with the pins of his manacles, and he smiled without opening his eyes. “What a magnificent day,” he said.
“Are you… is everything all right?”
Perrin stretched and stood. “I choose not to ask that question. Let us get free of this tangle, and leave the philosophy for later.”
His eyes widened, and he grabbed Sienne and yanked her into his embrace, flinging up his left arm. Pearly light flared as a shield sprang into being in time to catch the descending sword of one of Lady Nerus’s men. The guard snarled and hacked at the shield, making shreds of pearly gray fly.
“I think we have a problem,” Perrin said. Sienne looked around frantically for help. Alaric was fighting two men at once, Kalanath had just downed one and ducked a blow from another, and Dianthe, despite her brave words, looked about to fall over, probably from the delayed effects of shock. The shield shivered, but held strong. For now.
Sienne cast about for another solution. On the far wall hung a lantern with an iron frame and frosted invulnerable glass panels set into it. She lifted it with her invisible fingers. It was heavy, almost too heavy for her to manage, but she got a firm grip on it and dragged it toward herself, building momentum as she went until it was practically flying.
The sword bit deeply into the shield, the shield burst, and the lantern slammed into the guard’s skull. He dropped his sword and swayed, putting a hand to his head. Perrin tackled him around the waist, shoving him backward until the guard tripped and went down with Perrin atop him. Perrin grabbed the man’s hair and slammed his head into the stone floor. The guard went limp.
Sienne picked up the lantern, which was undamaged from its collision with the man’s head, and looked around. Alaric had one of the guards backed against a stone outcropping, and as Sienne watched, the guard threw down his sword and flung his hands up in surrender. Kalanath, not even breathing heavily, punched his opponent in the stomach, making him bend in time to meet Kalanath’s knee coming the other way. He dropped like a lead weight. Nothing else moved in the cavern. Sienne breathed out a long, relieved sigh. They’d won—for now.
25
Alaric gestured to the lone conscious survivor to take a few steps to the right, where manacles hung, their pins intact. Alaric must have been held there until his transformation. Sienne wondered how that had looked—those manacles couldn’t have restrained an ordinary horse’s hoof, let alone one the size of Alaric’s. Alaric directed the man to put his hands up, then secured the manacles around his wrists. The guard endured this in silence, his face expressionless. Alaric gave the chains a little yank, testing them, then walked back to join the rest of them where Dianthe crouched over Lady Nerus’s unconscious body.
“Now what?” Dianthe said. “We still have to get out of here. We don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”
“We have an excellent hostage,” Perrin said.
“That wizard she summoned, Winifrey, she’ll be here any minute,” Sienne said. She picked up the artifact and hugged it close to her chest. “I don’t want to use this thing again.”
“They don’t know that,” Alaric said. He knelt and slapped Lady Nerus, not gently, then shook her by the shoulders. “Wake up.”
Lady Nerus stirred and blinked. She focused on Alaric’s face, just inches from hers. “What are you?”
“Something you shouldn’t have trifled with,” Alaric said. “You’re going to escort us out of here. We’re taking the artifact. And if you come after us again, your life is forfeit. Understand?”
Lady Nerus licked her lips nervously. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I want what’s best for Rafellin. I swear I won’t use the artifact for more than that. I’ve spent years to reach this point, everything’s in readiness—I just need the artifact for an hour. Half an hour.”
“What you plan is murder,” Alaric said. “We won’t be party to that.”
“Not murder. Justice. Derekian needs to be stopped, don’t you see?”
“Then figure out another way to stop him.” Alaric hauled her to her feet and kept one large hand on her elbow. He held his confiscated sword in the other. “Now we’re leaving.”
“Then you condemn hundreds to death,” Lady Nerus said. “Thousands, maybe. I will go to war if I have to, and I will see Derekian toppled. That artifact—”
“Start walking,” Alaric said, dragging her along. The others fell into place around and behind him. It was so comforting to have his bulk between her and danger, Sienne thought, except when—
“Where’s my spellbook?” she asked.
Lady Nerus ignored her. Sienne smacked her across the back of her head to get her attention. “Where is my spellbook?”
“I gave it to Winifrey to make use of,” Lady Nerus said. “I imagine she’s in the process of copying out your spells. You’ll have to take it from her. I warn you, she’s a formidable wizard. She won’t let you walk out of here unchallenged.”
A narrow passage led out of the cavern, gradually sloping up. They had to go single-file, with Alaric pushing Lady Nerus ahead of him and keeping a tight grip on her arm. The passage was unlit, and as Sienne had left her lantern weapon behind in the cavern, the only light came from the small magic lights she made to hover over their heads. The lights gave everyone a pale, gho
stly appearance and made Alaric, already fairer-skinned than the rest, look three days dead. Sienne followed him, not too closely in case it came to fighting again, and tried not to fret about her spellbook. If that Winifrey had—well, she couldn’t hurt it, but she could copy out Sienne’s spells, and that infuriated Sienne more than it probably should.
The passage curved right, then left, and grew even narrower. Alaric had to hunch not to knock his head on the roof. His steps grew awkward, slower, and he turned sideways, bringing his sword arm back. “Watch it,” Sienne said.
Alaric turned his head toward her. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe—”
His left arm jerked forward, and he stumbled and cursed. Sienne heard running footsteps. Alaric cursed again and sped up. “She pulled free,” he said, sounding disgusted with himself. “I should have left the stupid sword behind.”
Sienne trotted after him, wishing she had her spellbook so she could shrink him, or force-blast Lady Nerus, or anything not to feel so utterly useless. The light was increasing, more than could be accounted for by the magic lights she threw up as they ran, and warmer, gold instead of white. Moments later they were out of the passage and into a cool first summer evening, lit by the last rays of the sun. The ground immediately outside the passage sloped steeply downward, and Sienne stumbled and slid a few feet before catching herself. Green hills surrounded them, rising from a valley floor carpeted with new grass. It took Sienne a moment to realize they were in the hills outside Fioretti, and that the barest glimpse of the city was visible to the west.
Lady Nerus was halfway down the hill and accelerating. Alaric and Kalanath raced after her, and Sienne hurried to catch up. The artifact was an awkward burden, and she finally resorted to carrying it head-down by the ankles. Maybe she could beat Lady Nerus senseless with it.
A long string of short, curt syllables rang out, and something smacked Sienne in the back of the knees. She tripped, her feet tangled in something sticky. She went down hard, losing her grip on the artifact, which bounced and came to a stop in a patch of new growth a few feet from her face.
“What is going on here?” a new voice said. Sienne fought to get free of the sticky tangles around her legs. Rolling onto her back, she looked up at the speaker. It was the woman who’d called herself Georgina Marchena, clad this time in plain dark trousers and shirt. The woman bent to pick up the artifact and examined it closely.
“Put it down, it’s dangerous,” Sienne panted.
“Oh, I know it’s dangerous. So am I.” Georgina—no, Winifrey—smiled and ran her hand over the emerald head. She must have used jaunt to enter the cavern and come out behind them. Sienne craned her neck. Perrin struggled against the same sticky webbing she’d been caught in. She couldn’t see Dianthe anywhere. Alaric and Kalanath had tackled Lady Nerus, but they were yards away and in no position to help her.
Sienne yelled a warning. Winifrey opened her spellbook again, leisurely, and flipped the pages. Alaric had turned at the sound of Sienne’s voice and was running back up the hill toward them. “He’s dangerous, too,” Winifrey said. “I think he needs to die.” She began speaking again, her words now the sharp-edged syllables of an evocation. Scorch. It would hit Alaric full on. Sienne screamed a warning, but Alaric kept coming straight for them.
In desperation, Sienne lifted herself off the ground with both hands and pivoted, swinging her bound legs like a hammer into the woman’s calves. Winifrey staggered, the evocation cutting off mid-syllable. The falcon slipped from her arm and fell, landing beside Sienne’s head. She snatched it up, clutched the hand grip, and without a second thought raised its talons to rest on her left forearm. Agony shot up her arm as the talons closed on it, digging in deep, and the falcon burst into emerald radiance. She aimed the artifact at Winifrey’s head. “Back away,” she panted, “or you’ll go the way your friend Caberri did.”
Winifrey regained her balance and turned her attention on Sienne. She spat out the first syllables of scorch again before comprehending what Sienne held. She backed away, lowering her spellbook. “Stop,” Sienne said. “You can’t outrun this.”
Pounding feet heralded Alaric’s approach. “Sienne, no,” he said.
“It’s all right, Alaric. She’s not stupid.”
Alaric bent to cut the webbing away from Sienne’s legs. It stuck to his blade, making him curse. “It has to be burned,” Sienne said. “Just give me a minute. And take that woman’s spellbook from her.” She concentrated, and a little spark danced along the lines of the webbing, spreading like fire consuming a dry field. It scorched her boots, which irritated her, or would have if she weren’t in so much pain. Just keeping her attention focused on the spark felt like dragging herself through a mire.
Finally, she stood and faced Winifrey, whose eyes were wide. Her gaze flicked in every direction, like a small animal looking to avoid the wolf. “Lady Nerus,” Sienne said, not turning to look at the woman who was approaching, escorted by Kalanath. “This is how the artifact works. Watch.”
Winifrey cried out and covered her face with her arms, but Sienne wasn’t aiming at her. She let her anger over Dianthe’s injury and being captured and the whole stupidity of Lady Nerus’s plan feed into the falcon, and a beam of pale green light shot from its beak past Winifrey’s head to impact against the side of a hill. The green light spidered outward from the point of impact until it covered an area about fifteen feet in diameter, then vanished along with a huge mass of dirt and stone. Lady Nerus stared at the crater left behind, filling with wisps of ash blowing away in the evening breeze.
“I don’t know if your cause is just, and I don’t care,” Sienne said. “Maybe I should. But this artifact makes killing far too easy. Suppose we let you have it, and you do only kill those few key individuals you’ve identified. What happens a year or five down the road, when your rule is threatened? You use it again, maybe? And then some bard writes an unflattering song about you, so you kill him too—no fuss, no mess, just one less bard to trouble your sleep. It’s too dangerous, Lady Nerus. We can’t let you have it.”
“So you’ll keep it?” Lady Nerus said. “Dispense justice for yourselves?”
“We’re going to dispose of it,” Alaric said. “We’re not in the justice-dispensing business.”
“You said thousands will die in your revolution,” Perrin said. He still had bits of web clinging to his legs. “Are you really justified in making that choice? In sending Rafellin up in flames?”
Lady Nerus shook her head. “You don’t understand. I will save Rafellin—”
“At what cost?” Perrin said. “Will Rafellin thank you for saving it?”
“It doesn’t matter to us,” Alaric said, holding up a hand to forestall Sienne’s objection. “Give us back Sienne’s spellbook, and the rest of our gear, and you can go your way. I suggest you get as far away from Fioretti as you can. Your wizard there can probably cast ferry.”
“You’ll inform on me.” Lady Nerus’s voice shook with anger. “You said it didn’t matter to you.”
“Politics doesn’t matter,” Alaric said. “Stability does. We’ll give you a day to gather your things and escape, but then we tell the authorities what you intended.”
“You don’t care what the misbegotten king does?”
Alaric sighed. “You were right about one thing,” he said. “We’re just scrappers, and the relative merits of our rulers are beyond us. Maybe you’d make a better ruler than the king, maybe not. What we are sure of is that you’d destroy this city to bring about the change you’re so eager for. This is our city. We live here. We have friends who’d suffer if we let your plan come to pass. So no, we don’t care about the misbegotten king. Now. Our things.”
Lady Nerus looked like she might fly at him and claw his eyes out. She made a tight gesture, and Winifrey held out her hand for her spellbook, which Dianthe handed over after a glance at Sienne. Winifrey let the spellbook fall open, keeping a close eye on Sienne. Sienne tried to look fierce, though she was on the verge of
passing out from the pain that had gone from sharp agony to a dull, throbbing ache that made her arm feel twice its normal size. She raised the artifact threateningly as Winifrey began reading, but it was only convey, and in a moment Sienne’s spellbook thumped to the ground beside her. A few more conveys, and the gear they’d had on them at dinner lay in a small pile atop the spellbook. During that time, Alaric took a few steps closer to Sienne and surreptitiously put his hand on the small of her back, supporting her. She tried not to look like she was leaning on him.
Finally, Winifrey beckoned to Lady Nerus to stand beside her. “Oh, and one of your guards is still locked up in that cavern,” Alaric said. “Don’t let him die there.”
Lady Nerus sneered. “I don’t abandon my people.”
“I’m sure that makes you all kinds of noble.”
Winifrey took Lady Nerus’s hand and read off one more spell. It was longer than the ones Sienne was familiar with, a more complicated summoning that flecked Winifrey’s mouth with blood. As it built to a peak, the two women’s images shuddered, flickered like candlelight, and they were gone between one breath and the next.
Sienne sagged, and Alaric’s hand on her back became his arm around her waist, holding her up. “Get it off her,” Alaric said.
This time, when the falcon was removed, Perrin put a hand over her bloody arm and bowed his head in silence. Deep green light, darker than that of the artifact, welled up around his fingers. It felt cool and fresh and smelled reassuringly of jasmine and mint. When he removed his hand, all that remained was drying blood. The puncture wounds were gone.
Sienne let out a deep, relieved breath. “All right,” Alaric said, “how in Sisyletus’s name are you doing that? Are you no longer under chastisement?”
“And without blessings? How does that work?” Dianthe asked.
Stone of Inheritance Page 27