by David Hair
—the attack broke apart, gone between one breath and the next. Jarius Langstrit was standing like a statue with one hand raised defensively over them.
‘The general blocked it!’ Alaron whispered wonderingly. ‘That must have been Vult, trying to see who triggered his wards.’
‘Then we have to go,’ Cym hissed. ‘Vult’s next step will be to contact his underlings.’ She pulled the general towards the door. He came blankly, as if everything that had just occurred meant nothing, already forgotten.
Ramon hurried after her.
Alaron looked about the room. There could be another attack any second. But he couldn’t help himself. He touched the Rune-mark on the bust again. ‘Alaron Mercer,’ he said aloud. Another panel peeled back and another sealed scroll-case emerged. He snatched it out of the air, tucked it inside his cape and hurried after the others.
They made it out without incident, leaving the staff and guards mired in their gnosis-induced slumbers. The square was empty, as were the alleys they fled into.
They had done it. They beamed at each other exultantly.
Ramon took Alaron’s arm with a mischievous grin. ‘So, can I walk you home, my lovely? I quite like tall girls,’ he added with a grin.
‘If you don’t get me home in five minutes my mother will gut you,’ Alaron replied.
‘Why do they all say that?’ the little Silacian sighed.
The walk home seemed to take an eternity, but they made it unchallenged, and with no sign of the alarm being raised behind them. Whoever Vult might have contacted locally to investigate the break-in was acting discreetly. It wasn’t until they got inside and locked the door behind them that they finally felt safe. They threw themselves into a group hug, pulling Langstrit into their huddle, whooping joyously.
Alaron felt someone pinch his behind and yelped, jerking out of the clinch. ‘Who did that!’ he demanded, while the others roared with laughter.
Ramon winked at him. ‘So, honey, can I help you out of that dress?’
Once they were all changed and settled into the armchairs of the lounge Cym opened the Langstrit scroll-case. Tesla was already abed, and Langstrit dozed in his favourite armchair.
‘So: let’s see what’s in the general’s file,’ Cym said, pulling out a handful of tightly wrapped pages headed with the seal of the Watch. ‘Look: “Arrest Report for Prisoner L” – this is it. And here it is, the contents of the chapel—’ She set the papers down, beaming excitedly. Alaron thought she’d never looked so beautiful.
Ramon poured drinks and they toasted their success. ‘Amici, much though I want to read it all tonight, I think we should get some sleep first. But well done, us. We got in, Alaron got to biff Koll, we got what we wanted and we got out undetected. Perfect.’
‘Well, not exactly undetected,’ Cym reminded them. ‘Vult knows he’s had a break-in.’
‘He’s in Antiopia,’ Ramon replied smugly. ‘He won’t be back here for weeks, and there’s nothing to tie us to the break-in. We are geniuses; step aside, Kaden Rats, there’s a new gang in town.’
They finished their drinks and went reluctantly to bed. Alaron didn’t mention the second scroll-case. In retrospect it was an utterly stupid thing to have done – but it was too late now. He waited until he could go to the privy alone so that he could examine the papers privately.
Inside were his thesis notes. He began to tremble with rage. Vult really had stolen them, or more likely, had got someone else to do it. Then his eyes fell on the only other item in the file, a one-page letter folded up amidst the notes.
To: Lucien Gavius, Principal of Turm Zauberin, Norostein
From: Belonius Vult, Governor of Noros.
You are instructed to fail the student Alaron Mercer. On what grounds is up to you, but I suggest misconduct. However, you are not to cast the normal Chain-rune upon him, nor monitor him for ongoing possession of a periapt. The Watch have also been so instructed. Refer any queries to me, or in my absence, to Captain Muhren.
BV
He stared and stared, and then he wrapped his arms about his sides and began to tremble. Vult had secretly sanctioned his use of a periapt? Why? And if a Chain-rune was supposed to be cast upon a failed mage, why hadn’t one been cast on him?
Vult wanted me to still have access to the gnosis – why?
There could be only one reason why: Vult must have divined something about him after seeing his thesis. So Vult wants me to search for the Scytale …
He recalled the words about Vult in Generals of the Glorious Rebellion: ‘His mastery of Divination foresees all turns of the game.’
31
Lovers
Sorcery
Sorcery strikes to the very heart of the most perplexing and unsolved mysteries – that of the after-life and the soul. Whilst the gnosis appears to prove the existence of some form of life after death, it does not prove – or even hint at – whether that after-life has a purpose, is a reward, or is in fact little more than a protracted fading-away, the tail-end of dying. The existence of God is neither proven nor disproven. Nevertheless, with Sorcery, one can commune with spirits and enlist their aid (Wizardry); speculate upon the future (Divination); communicate over distance (Clairvoyance); or manipulate the dead (Necromancy). Whether any of these uses should be legal is a matter for the moralists.
ORDO COSTRUO COLLEGIATE, PONTUS
Brochena, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia
Maicin 928
2 months until the Moontide
In the aftermath of the Revolt, the Rondian legions went from town to town throughout Noros, seeking out the more famous rebels and – despite many having been pardoned – executing them, as a warning to the populace. Elena recalled one in particular: the headsman had paused, nonchalantly, the axe poised above the victim’s head. The boy on the block – and he was only a boy, barely nineteen – had sobbed as he waited to die. There had been for no reason for that pause; it had been deliberate and cruel, the executioner enjoying his moment in the sun as he played to the crowd.
She knew now how that boy had felt. Gurvon’s axe is above us all. I can feel it.
Everyone was affected. Cera was distant, always busy; she never spoke of personal things any more, reminding Elena of a bad phase she had gone through a few years back, spying on people. She’d turned secretive and mean-spirited for a while, until Elena had managed to snap her out of it.
Timori was often tearful, and gave Borsa a horrid time. Elena wished she could spend more time with the boy, playing like they used to, but she was so busy and so tired. Even Lorenzo was awkward with her, his eyes full of longing and his usual smooth manner rumpled by uncertainty.
I wish I could just ride away – but where would I go? she wondered.
After another fruitless day searching the slums – Mara had struck again, this time at one of Mustaq’s kinsmen – she stumbled back to her chambers. Tarita ordered a pair of hefty servants to bring buckets of water to fill the old half-wine-barrel she used as a bath. She heated the water herself with the remains of her gnosis and sighed with relief as she immersed herself.
‘Are you hungry, mistress?’ Tarita asked her.
‘Not really,’ Elena admitted. She tipped more water over her head, enjoying the enveloping warm wetness. ‘I should be, but I’m too tired to eat. I’ll have a big breakfast tomorrow.’ She stood up and accepted a towel.
‘You have a fine body, mistress,’ Tarita told her. ‘Very strong and athletic.’
‘But not very feminine,’ Elena replied, rubbing herself down.
‘I think your form would please any man.’ Tarita said with her usual disconcerting frankness. ‘Does Lorenzo di Kestria like your body?’
‘Tarita!’ Elena rolled her eyes as she wrapped the towel about her and sat on the bed, wondering what to wear that evening. ‘You have no sense of propriety, do you? How old are you now?’
‘Ah, I don’t know precisely – fifteen, I think. I bleed.’ She sniffed. ‘Why?’
&n
bsp; ‘Just curious.’ A nagging thought surfaced in her mind. ‘Tarita, how did you come to be in that chest when the Gorgio began killing the Jhafi staff?’
‘You’ve asked me this before, mistress: I saw what was happening and I hid.’
‘Where? Surely not in that trunk for a whole day?’
‘Why not? The soldiers only came in once, and they were in a hurry. I was frightened they would find me, but an officer came and took them away with him. After that, everything went quiet.’
Elena finally remembered what it was that had been nagging her. ‘Who locked you in the chest, Tarita?’
The girl froze, and Elena instinctively walled herself with shields, in case Tarita did something aggressive. Her fears were misplaced; instead, Tarita whimpered and backed away.
‘I won’t hurt you, girl, but I must know,’ Elena said firmly.
Tarita slumped to her knees on the floor. ‘Please, mistress – I was going to tell you, once I knew it was safe, I promise.’ She took a deep breath and looked at Elena. Her face was pallid beneath the deep tan of her race. ‘It was Portia, mistress.’
‘Portia? Portia Tolidi? Fernando’s sister? Why would she do that?’
‘Because Fernando was my lover,’ she whispered.
‘What?’ Elena stood up, towering over the girl, who cowered on the floor. ‘He was what? But Solinde—?’ Whole new vistas of questions burst into being around her.
Tarita cowered on the floor, her eyes bruised with fear. ‘Fernando made Portia promise to keep me safe, mistress. Please – I was going to tell you, but if my people found out I’d lain with a Gorgio they would kill me.’
Elena sat down in the water again, thinking furiously. ‘Why didn’t Portia take you north?’
Tarita gave her the look she usually reserved for when Elena made a stupid tabula move. ‘Because the Gorgio were killing all the staff – if I’d been found in the north, I’d have ended up just as dead. Portia was kind to me, for her brother’s sake.’
Elena reached down, lifted the girl’s chin and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Tarita. I swear that.’ She was still thinking furiously. ‘So what happened to Fernando Tolidi?’
‘He was killed, about a week before you came and drove off the Gorgio.’
‘He was killed? By whom?’
‘Princessa Solinde killed him,’ Tarita replied unflinchingly.
‘Great Kore! Solinde? You’re serious?’
The girl lifted her head defiantly and repeated, ‘Princess Solinde killed him.’
Elena stared at her. ‘Surely you’re mistaken—’
Tarita looked back up at her, her dark eyes flashing. ‘You can disbelieve if you wish, mistress.’
‘I don’t understand.’ She pictured the bitter, vicious creature who had confronted her after they had pulled her from the wreckage of the Moon Tower and tried to match it to the happy, vivacious girl she had spent four years with. Great Kore!
She patted the mattress beside her. ‘Sit here, Tarita. Please, tell me what happened.’
Tarita rose gracefully to her feet and sat shyly next to Elena, careful not to touch her. ‘Mistress, Seir Fernando was aide to the Gorgio ambassador. He was courting Solinde, but the princessa was off-limits for —well, you know what.’ She preened slightly. ‘I was not a virgin and he took a liking to me, so when he came back to his rooms after dancing, with his passions aroused, he wanted a woman. He wanted me.’
Elena stared at the girl. She’d have been what, fourteen? Gracious, the lives we live.
‘Then you went to Forensa with the queen and Princessa Cera and Prince Timi. The palace was preparing for the arrival of the sultan’s emissaries. Then Magister Sordell killed good King Olfuss and the Gorgio entered the city. There were thousands of soldiers and they were forcing many of the women, but Fernando protected me.’ The girl stared at the floor. ‘He said he loved me.’
And maybe he did, Elena thought. He was only eighteen himself. He wouldn’t be the first to fall in love with a servant – or the first to pretend love if it enabled him to enjoy a naïve young girl’s body either. ‘Did you love him?’
Tarita squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I liked him. We really didn’t spend time together, mistress. We just rukked, then I would go back to my duties. Maybe we would have come to love each other.’
‘What happened between him and Solinde?’
‘The princessa was very distraught – her father was dead and she was a prisoner. I saw her after, and she was crying. Fernando was trying to console her, but she hit him – I saw the handprint.’
‘Was he angry?’
‘No, he was sad. He was a good man, mistress. He felt sorry for her – he said she was really just angry with his clan, not him. The princessa was kept locked up for a long time. Lady Vedya arrived, and she wouldn’t even allow any servants into Solinde’s rooms. Then after a few weeks, Alfredo Gorgio announced that Solinde and Fernando would marry, and they began courting again as if nothing had ever been wrong between them. We all saw them walking together, and she looked happy.’
Alone with Vedya, and then a change in behaviour. ‘Go on,’ Elena said grimly, thinking, I have to get Solinde recalled back here so I can question her.
‘The whisper went round that Solinde and Fernando would marry in secret on the next holy day, and Fernando told me that evening. He said I couldn’t be his maid any more and he made Portia promise to look after me.’ She scowled. ‘At least I wasn’t with child. But I was not pleased at all.’
Elena put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
Tarita pouted, then shrugged. ‘I suppose it had to happen sometime.’ She leaned towards Elena. ‘Then it all went horribly wrong. There were these awful noises, in the middle of the night – they woke the whole palace! The two of them were shouting really dreadful things at each other, horrible obscenities, then someone screamed and one of the knights broke the door down. Fernando’s chest was covered in blood and there was a knife in his heart!’
‘And Solinde?’
‘She had pulled a sheet over her face. They told us she was shouting in a strange voice—’
‘Strange? In what way strange?’
Tarita shrugged. ‘Just strange. She sounded – well, different, not like Princessa Solinde … she wasn’t speaking words, just wailing, like at a funeral.’ She shuddered. ‘She had stabbed Fernando many, many times. Then Magister Sordell arrived and threw everyone out.’
‘Not Gurvon?’
‘Magister Gyle was away – this was just before you came back and killed the evil ones,’ Tarita reminded her. ‘Magister Sordell put it about that Fernando had attacked the princessa and she had defended herself. Then he locked her in the Moon Tower – for her own protection, he said.’
Elena raised her eyebrows. ‘He protected Solinde? After she’d murdered a Gorgio?’
Tarita looked like she wanted to spit. ‘I suppose she had more value than Fernando,’ she said bitterly. ‘Anyway, a few days later you came and killed them all. But Lady Cera should bring back her sister and make her pay,’ she added in a low voice.
Elena took a deep breath. ‘I wish you had told me this before I sent Solinde south.’
Tarita hunched over a little. ‘I couldn’t tell anyone.’ She reached out and clutched Elena’s hand in hers. ‘The men – they wouldn’t understand. I slept with a Gorgio!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I don’t want them to hurt me.’
‘I’ll keep your secret, Tarita, I promise you. Thank you for trusting me with it.’
‘You are a good mistress,’ the maid said in a small voice, and then, after a moment, ‘Will you ask Lady Cera to give Fernando justice?’
‘Yes, I will,’ Elena replied, squeezing Tarita’s hand.
First though, I’ll need to exhume his body and ask it a few questions, and hope to Hel I can make sense of all this.
Many aspects of Necromancy were illegal throughout the Rondian Empire, for good reasons. To create an undead by
imprisoning a soul in their own or another body violated all human sensibilities, and not only was every instant a torment for those souls, but they were a danger to the living: their bodies were oblivious to pain and their need to feed on other spirits to continue their half-lives made them murderous.
Javon, having not previously been home to magi, had no specific laws against Necromancy, but, regardless, Elena had no intention of getting caught.
Fernando Tolidi had been hastily buried in one of the palace crypts beneath the now-ruined Moon Tower. As a nobleman, Fernando was owed a proper burial, but the expectation was that his body would be sent north at some point, once relations with the Gorgio normalised. So in the meantime, he’d been nailed into a coffin and interred without ceremony in the crypt of some long-extinct dynasty, where he’d been left to rot away unregarded.
The gnosis was Elena’s key and illumination. She checked Cera was asleep, Tarita silent and Borsa snoring in the next room before slipping down to Fernando’s current resting place. The padlock came open in her hand with little effort; the gnosis muffled the noise of the grating hinges as she opened and closed the door, then lit a torch. Alone in the cold chamber, Elena went grave-robbing. The graves of almost five hundred years of sheiks, emirs and Godspeakers lay beneath the palace, a maze of Jhafi dead that would take hours to fully explore. But Elena needed only the Rimoni crypts, easily recognisable by the angel-encrusted, Sol et Lune engravings on the rows of stone sarcophagi. She muttered a quick prayer for the dead as she navigated her way through them. It was easy to imagine ghosts peering after her, or shades stalking the shadows in her wake. At times the dead did sleep unquiet, when some poor soul’s transition did not go as it should, instead leaving it haunting its own remains. Sometimes they could be deadly dangerous. But here there was only the cold, rotting damp of the grave: unpleasant enough, but not perilous.