Still on the ground, the prince grabbed Kora’s ankle. She crossed her arms before her chest, and a second jet of purple light bounced off her crimson shell and flew back at Petroc, who was far enough away that he just had time to duck. He threw himself to the ground, staring up at his opponents, surprise etched on his face. Kansten reached for her locket, but Kora admonished, “Not yet.” Petroc was too far from the wall. Being blown into it might kill him if he hit it right.
Instead, the sorceress attacked with her own binding spell. A weaker spell. Petroc stumbled to his feet again, burning her rope of twine to dust as it sped toward him. “You certainly can conjure a shield, Magician.”
“What happened to Miss Porteg? Kaiga!”
Petroc leapt aside; Kora’s tripping spell missed him, and he yelled the incantation back from midair. Kora tumbled to the ground, Kansten after her, while a set of arrows came out of nowhere and rushed at Lanokas, who twisted out of their path. They missed him by inches, soaring through the collapsed wall and over the fence. The assault’s severity made Kora cringe. “What’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “We’re not aiming to kill!”
“Yes, that chunk of stone would have merely scraped my face.”
The sorcerers yelled “Trasporte” at the same moment, with the result that they switched position. Able to protect only one of her friends, and anticipating an attack against Lanokas due to the stone he had flung, Kora put a silver shield between the prince and his assailant. Kansten, on Petroc’s other side, stood frozen at what must have looked like Kora’s morphing into the enemy. She seemed hesitant to say for certain who was who, whether Petroc was evoking or trying to destroy the shield. Petroc ignored her completely, but his magic was more than strong enough to dissolve, bit by bit, the barrier Kora struggled to maintain in a battle of wills; the effort dropped the sorceress to a knee. “Not again,” she thought as the shield disappeared. “Not someone else.” She stumbled over her tongue, panic getting the best of her, but she had bought Lanokas time to back away and prepare himself. Forgetting his sword, or deeming it better to disarm the enemy as much as possible, he glimpsed a hilt through Petroc’s robes and magicked the man’s dagger into his hand as soon as Kora’s shield was down. At that point, the prince lunged at the sorcerer. Kansten, her doubts removed, bared her teeth and rushed in from the other side.
Petroc barked something, a monosyllable, as Kora scrambled to rise. She screamed the first syllables of Estatua before she realized she and Petroc had switched places again, this time not by coincidence. Kansten rammed into her, pushing her against Lanokas’s dagger as they all tumbled. The blade grazed Kora’s cheek, Kansten’s elbow slammed into her chest, and the floor knocked the wind out of her. Lanokas, who landed a yard away, threw himself at Kora; both he and Kansten pulled her arms into position to evoke the crimson shell around them.
“Kora,” cried Kansten, “he’s coming!”
Kora heard her as through a haze. She lifted her head, saw Petroc storming up with an arrogant smirk, and forced out “Espadara.”
Petroc stopped short, darted to the right. The sword Kora conjured followed him; before its first slash made contact, the sorcerer created a blade of his own, one he held and swung to deflect the blow. Kora’s sword continued to attack. Kansten and Lanokas launched themselves again at Petroc, who remained occupied with the sword, while Kora, whose head had cleared a bit, yelled, “Kaiga!” from where she lay. As Petroc slipped, he vanished the weapon that attacked him. Then he performed the most powerful piece of magic Kora had ever seen.
The spell catapulted Kansten and Lanokas, flinging them twenty feet back. Even Kora, halfway down the room, slid fast across the floor because of the spell’s strength; she cried out as friction burned her leg. Without mercy, without pause, Petroc cast another incantation, one that yanked Kansten from the ground. She hovered stiff and horizontal in midair, her arms stuck to her sides, her knees locked and rigid. She seemed unable to move anything but her head. Lanokas, moaning, looked up at the sound of her shouts. Kora watched in terror, forgetting her searing shin, racking her brain for some way she could help.
Petroc glared at Kansten with murder in his eyes. He marched toward her, passed within inches of a pillar. A pillar as good as any….
Kora’s voice shook as she cried, “Desfazair!” She could not undo Petroc’s charm entirely, but she weakened it. Gravity pulled Kansten’s limbs toward the ground. Her arms flailed.
“THE AMULET!” Kora screamed. The echo was heart-stopping. Kansten pulled her arms to her chest, grasping for the stone of jade. She found it as Petroc’s lips began to move.
Due to the vortex’s angle, Petroc missed the pillar. The winds propelled him to the wall beyond, but he fired off a spell as he went: perhaps the same spell that had changed the floor’s texture in the cavern tunnel, for he bounced back as though springs loaded the stone he hit. Kansten’s gust of air caught him and forced him back, pinning him to the ruins. Lanokas, lying in a heap, ripped the chain from the sorcerer’s neck with a gesture while Kora yelled “Estatua” for what felt like the fiftieth time. The spell finally hit; Petroc froze, like so many Kora had seen, his skin a sickly shade of gray. The chain flew into Kora’s hand, and Kansten fell with a bone-crushing thud to the marble floor.
“Kansten!” Kora ran flat-out to where the woman whimpered, spread-eagled, motionless except for her face, which was beet red and screwed in pain. A line of sweat darkened her forehead.
“It’s my back.”
Kora raised a hand to her mouth. If Kansten were paralyzed…. Kora had no clue how to restore mobility, to heal nerves that would not naturally regenerate.
“Kora, please!”
Kora knelt. “Can you…? Kansten, can you move your fingers?”
“I don’t know.”
Kora cast the spell to heal broken bones, and Kansten let out a gasp of relief, her vertebrae intact. Kora’s stomach gave a jolt as Kansten bent her left knee.
“Stop,” she said, stretching the woman’s leg back out. “That’s good enough, lie still for now. You’ll be all right, I think.” That was when she heard Lanokas groan. She turned her head. “Oh my God!”
Lanokas’s left leg, thirty degrees askew from where it should have been, was one massive bruise, or at least what Kora could see of it through a rip in his pants. His face was as flushed as Kansten’s had been, and displayed no emotion when Kora appeared at his side.
“I think I passed out, after I ripped the chain from him. How bad is it?”
“You don’t want to know. I’ve never seen….”
“Not helping.”
“Osteocura.”
The prince’s shattered limb healed. His face was still hot, but his breathing became less shallow. “What did he do to Kansten?” he asked.
“He broke her back. I healed it,” Kora told him as he started. “She bent her knee, she isn’t paralyzed.”
“And you have…?”
Kora showed him the chain. Lanokas propped himself up on his elbows. “Help me stand,” he said.
“What!?”
“My leg is whole, isn’t it? Though it does resemble an eggplant. Here, let me lean on you.”
Distributing his weight between his good leg and Kora’s shoulder, Lanokas rose. Despite a slight limp and a grimace, he made it to where Kansten was trying to sit up.
“Easy!” said Kora. “Take it easy.” She supported Kansten’s back.
“OW! You take it easy, I’m black and blue you know!”
“You and Lanokas both. I’m just glad you’re alive! I didn’t want to scare you before, but I can’t heal paralysis. I’m not sure it’s a healable….” A sharp pop sounded. “Was that your back?!”
“I’m fine. Just stiffer than a cornstalk.”
After a couple of minutes and a lot of groaning, Kansten was standing with one arm around Kora’s neck and stretching gingerly, her grip weak but her voice steady. “So, when are you going to heal yourself?”
“What?” sai
d Kora. Then, “Ow!” The sting of her sliced cheek finally registered, peaking when she spoke. She grabbed at the injury; Lanokas took over as Kansten’s support. Kora forced out an incantation, and a wide, lax grin took the place of the open wound upon her face. A second spell and the blood vanished from her skin and clothing. For the first time, she studied at her ease the chain of red gold that overran the confines of her fist.
The journey was over. Kansten was weak, Lanokas hobbling, the brush burn on Kora’s leg stung, but no one’s injuries were permanent. A bit of pain did nothing to ruin the moment’s perfection, the sweetness of a victory never expected and all too rare. What if—Kora cast away her cynicism, if only for a moment—what if the chain now in her possession truly were the key to defeating a certain second sorcerer?
“Kora?” said Kansten. Kora pulled herself from her daydream. “We need to do something about….” And she pointed to the spot where Petroc stood motionless, framed against the wall.
“Don’t be too rough with him,” said Lanokas. “Neslan and Bennie would be dead if his threats hadn’t dragged us to Podrar.”
It was true, Kora realized. They would be dead along with Sedder. No three Leaguesmen could have fought off Zalski and that number of guards. Bendelof owed her life to Petroc’s eccentricities, Neslan with her, provided no one had caught them fleeing to Yangerton. Would they be waiting when Kora returned? Would anyone be left to greet her?
Now was not the time for doleful wonderings. Kora magicked her sack over, grabbed a clean bandana, and moved Petroc to the base of the nearest column. She cast his own binding spell—she remembered the incantation, Lassmagico— and a string of purple wound itself around the sorcerer and the architecture.
“Let me do the honors,” said Kansten. She supported her own weight as she gagged the immobile, open-mouthed Petroc. Kora leaned close to the sorcerer to revive him. He stirred almost instantly.
“Listen,” Kora said, “you have no idea what you forced me to risk. I was arrested north of Podrar. I was attacked by Zalski himself, but I came here. I fought. I fought and I won.” Kora held out the chain. “Now I make the demands. No more magic.”
Petroc nodded stiffly.
“I know some nasty spells. They’re on the tip of my tongue,” said Kora. She vanished Petroc’s bonds, and he tore the gag from his mouth.
“You said your lapdogs had no magic.”
“You asked if they were sorcerers, which they aren’t. And that lapdog”—Kora indicated Lanokas—“happens to be next in line for the legitimate throne. Show some respect.”
Petroc studied the prince with a scathing eye. Then he addressed Kora. “An interesting bit of knowledge,” he said. “I care more about where you learned to enchant that amulet.”
“The spell was in a book. The Crimson League has a small collection.”
Kora had no idea how common an enchantment like the one on Kansten’s amulet actually was. Since the spell came from the Librette she explained the charm away how she could think to, and Petroc seemed to accept her explanation. Lanokas, with a natural disdain, changed the subject before things turned dangerous.
“We’re the ones asking questions. We came all this way for a chain. I expect it does more than hang around her neck?”
“It will forge a link between Miss Porteg and the individual of her choosing.”
Kora stared at the glinting red gold in her palm. “What do you mean, a link?”
“A mental connection. You can read the thoughts, watch the surroundings of any one person, without said person’s knowledge or consent.”
“That’s useful,” said Kansten. She was clinging again to Lanokas to stand.
Useful it might be, but a chill ran down Kora’s spine. “It sounds parasitic.”
“Then I suggest you choose your host wisely,” Petroc told her. “Only death can break the link and allow you to forge a second.”
A succession of faces flashed before Kora’s eyes. Zalski was the obvious choice, but was he the best? What about Malzin, the head of his guard? What about Laskenay, or Menikas? There would be no more secrets, no gnawing doubt that they kept her even now from important information. And then—Kora’s heart melted to think of it—what about her mother, or Zacry? This was her chance, the only chance she could expect, to be near them again.
Lanokas sensed Kora’s uncertainty. “This magic is meant for you, for you alone. I won’t tell you how to use it. No one will. Give it time, though. Be sure your choice is the one you really want.”
Kora raised her eyes to Petroc. “How do I use the thing?”
“Put the chain around your neck and say a name,” he told her, and she did a double take.
“It’s that simple?”
“If the parchment sealed with the chain was accurate, yes.”
Kora’s stomach tied in knots. “Who wrote the parchment? Who locked the necklace away and enchanted it like this?”
Petroc raised an eyebrow. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. Kansten stepped forward, supporting her own weight for only the second time since Kora healed her.
“My turn. You said Zalski killed your brother. Why don’t you fight the guilty bastard instead of attacking those of us breaking our backs, imagine this, trying to thwart him?”
She stood firm beneath Petroc’s glare. His voice was colder than Kora had ever heard it. “My brother was an idealistic simpleton who in many ways brought about his own destruction.”
“He was a lot like us,” Lanokas interpreted.
“Perhaps I’m Zalski’s match. And I was fond of my brother. But I see no reason to risk my neck to avenge him. If you plan to keep pestering Zalski, I wish you luck. You’ll need it.”
Kora waved Kansten back, spoke before the blonde could. “We’d need less if you threw your hand in, even working solo. The fight isn’t about vengeance. Well, for some it is, but it doesn’t have to be. Don’t make it about your brother, make it about you. Don’t you want to leave these mountains? You’ve sealed yourself off. You can’t realize how much worse things have gotten.”
“I’ve done my part in giving you your chain. Now go.”
“Giving it to me? You didn’t give me anything!”
“GO!”
Kora grabbed her friends’ hands. A moment later, they found themselves in a secluded wood, with the gurgle of rushing water just perceptible through the trees. The sun to the west was approaching the horizon.
“Where are we?” asked Lanokas. He stepped forward to examine his surroundings. With a visible strain to stay upright, Kansten let go of Kora’s fingers and of the chain of red gold they both grasped.
“We’re at the spot where we crossed the river,” Kora said. She smiled at Lanokas as she realized what that signified: they were going back. Even Kansten’s face lost the most alarming traces of her pallor.
“What’ll you do with the necklace?” Kansten asked.
Kora stared at the chain. A swirling swarm of faces seemed to stare right back in the last bit of daylight the metal reflected. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It would be a mistake to choose anyone flat-out.”
“Don’t rush a decision,” Lanokas advised. “Let it come to you.”
A rustle in the woodlands made Kora jump. She summoned her shell, but let it fall away as Bidd and Hayden swung down from a tree they had perched in.
“You’re back?” said Hayden. He brushed some loose dirt from his pants.
“Excellent!” cried Bidd.
“Shhh!” cried Kansten.
Someone was picking through the foliage, moving closer, heedless of noise. The five outlaws huddled together; Bidd and Hayden readied their bows, and Kora, remembering what had happened the last time they shot an arrow, felt her throat grow tight.
A teenager dressed in black burst in the clearing. His head of untamed curls was as dark as his shabby clothes, and his eyes were a bright shade of gray. It took a second for Kora, who knew she had seen him before, to remember where. The boy threw his arms up.
“Don’t shoot! Bidd, don’t….”
“Hal?” Bidd dropped his bow and rushed to Prue’s grandson, the boy from the portrait in the locket. They embraced like brothers. “What in God’s name…?”
“I’m on the lam,” Hal announced. “Taxes.”
“You wouldn’t know it from the noise you made.”
“You try forcing your way quietly through those weeds.”
“We’re on the lam too, me and Hayden. We killed a soldier.”
“What?”
“Well, we almost did. He’s not the one we’d hang for if they caught us, though.”
Hayden shook Hal’s hand, and asked, “How did you come this far north?”
“I go up and down the road by night, from village to village. Camp out for a week at a time. Fontferry’s the best, I stay in an abandoned farmhouse.”
“You rode past us on your way here,” said Kora.
“Did I really? Who are you?”
“You can trust him,” said Bidd, when Kora gave no answer. “He’s one of my oldest friends. In fact, he’ll want to join us.”
Hal turned to Kora. “I’ll go anywhere if you can promise me food. All I found today was a blackberry bush. And company would be nice, I can tell you.”
“You won’t be lonely where we’re going,” Lanokas assured him. “You will be wanted dead. Consider it a trade-off.”
“I’m already wanted dead. And anything’s better than starving.” The boy looked desperate. “You’re the Crimson League, aren’t you? Please…”
Lanokas told him, “We owe a great debt to your grandmother. All she asked in payment was that we help you, should we meet. I don’t suppose you’d want a safehouse, but we can find you one. It’s what the old woman would want. Listen, you’d have food enough there, and companions.”
Hal waved his arms in protest. “I’d rather keep on alone. Trapped in one place, not me.”
“It’s your prerogative,” said Lanokas.
“I want to join you.”
“Then you’ll explain why you lied. We know why you’re wanted, it’s not tax evasion.”
“It all comes down to that, doesn’t it? That’s why they arrested my uncle.” Hal told how the jail in his town was small and ill-guarded; how he had removed the bars on his uncle’s cell window, cutting five years off a six-year term; how the two had gone separate ways, to be harder to identify, since the guards would be searching for the pair of them. “I hope they didn’t nab him. I’ve been lucky myself, so far. Look, I don’t know you, that’s why I didn’t tell Bidd the whole story. If I’d realized you were the Crimson League, I wouldn’t have kept a thing back, not a thing. But then, I guess the League can’t let just anyone in on its secrets. I’m telling you, I have nothing to lose. I meant what I said, I want to join you.”
The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 28