He staggered off the hedge and tripped over something soft. The princess. She lay unmoving, her eyes open but unblinking. He rested his fingers against her throat for a pulse, laid his cheek close to her face, and felt air sighing in and out of her mouth. Thank the Gods.
He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to rid himself of the blotch across his vision, and gradually regained his sight. He blinked once more and focused. The velocitor was gone, the iron cradle melted to slag and the wheels tilted in all directions on bent axles. Blackened figures lay here and there on the slope rising to the station, whose glass was entirely shattered and whose brass frame sagged like the cradle. But Kerensa’s spell was destroyed, he thought, and staggered toward the devastation. He stopped at the first person he came to, knelt beside him, but he was certainly dead, with half his head burned away. Piercy gagged, pushed himself to his feet, and moved on.
The place where the velocitor had been looked strange, a colorful haze of blue and brown and gray in streaks, as if someone had tried to paint sky and trees but had never actually seen either. Piercy slowed his steps to examine it, trying not to be distracted by the fallen bodies of the velocitor’s attendants.
Unexpected movement caught his eye. Several yards ahead of him, a man dressed in frock coat and trousers strode toward the disaster. Piercy cursed and began running. Just what they needed, a curious bystander getting involved and probably getting killed. “Stop!” he shouted. “Sir, I insist you stop at once!”
The man stopped, then turned around. His face at that distance wasn’t more than a blur, but his stance, his feet planted wide and his shoulders thrown back, was defiant. He lifted his hands in a gesture so familiar Piercy had already flung himself to the ground when the man shouted, “Desini cucurri!” Piercy rolled to one side in case the magician tried to follow it up with any other spells. When he looked up, the man was again walking, more slowly now, toward the strange shimmering.
Piercy got to his feet and looked behind him. People were emerging from the garden, some of them stopping to help the princess, others running toward the devastation. The magician had almost reached the empty cradle. Piercy ran, or tried to; it felt like swimming through thick air, pressing him back. He gritted his teeth and fought it, gradually nearing the magician. The man now stood inches from the mass of color, his hand outstretched to lay his palm flat against it.
Piercy shouted a warning and lowered his head as if that would help him push through. The magician gestured in a complicated way, called out a string of command words Piercy didn’t recognize, and the haze thickened, shrank, contracted on its center into a fist-sized stone streaked with color. It hovered in midair for a second, then fell into the magician’s hand—
—and the world changed.
Piercy had once seen a painting designed to alter as the viewer moved. From the right, it looked like a woman; from the left, like a man, with the face’s features gradually shifting as one walked from one side to another. He was reminded of that painting now. The spring landscape surrounding the velocitor station, the meadow dotted with tiny blue flowers, flowed into another scene, this one of an autumn forest with bare-branched trees and a dull gray sky that promised rain.
Piercy turned his head and the landscape swung past dizzyingly. He closed his eyes briefly, then focused on the magician, who had begun to walk forward into autumn. “Stop!” Piercy shouted, and ran after him, nearly falling over when it turned out the treacly-air effect had vanished. He caught himself with the aid of his walking stick and kept going.
The magician either didn’t hear him or was ignoring him, because the man didn’t turn around, even when Piercy shouted again. Piercy’s chest and sides ached with exertion; he was in excellent fighting shape, but he felt as if he had been running with rocks strapped to his thighs. With a few long strides, Piercy caught up to the magician and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I said stop,” he said.
The magician pivoted smoothly on his heel and laid his hand on Piercy’s cheek, an almost caressing gesture. “Vertiri. Manis confundi,” he said, and his head swelled to twice its normal size, then shrank to a pinpoint. Something began shrieking in Piercy’s ear, something that clung to his shoulder with claws like knives.
Piercy screamed and began tearing at the thing, but it kept moving just out of his reach, out of his sight. He flung himself to the ground and began rolling until the thing went squelch and the shrieking turned into a keening wail. The thing put its claw on his shoulder, and he rolled to his knees, grabbed its bony leg, and flipped it over his shoulder, then tried to pin it even though he still couldn’t see it. It grunted exactly like a person, but when he fumbled around for it, it was gone. Then someone put an arm around his throat, tightened his grip, and everything went black.
He came to slowly, his ears pulsing with a hollow rushing sound like the waves of the sea, and lay perfectly still while he regained contact with his arms and legs. He could hear someone moving around, the light scuffing of shoes on hard earth and the rustle of leaves, then the man knelt beside him and laid a hand on his chest.
Piercy grabbed his assailant’s shoulder and brought his right elbow up hard at the side of the man’s head. He heard a cry as he connected with the man’s forehead instead, then let go in astonishment, because it had been a woman’s voice. His eyes flew open. “Lady Caligwe!” he exclaimed. “What in Cath’s five hells are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” she said. “I saw you were attacked. Who was that man?”
“You followed me,” he said, feeling his stomach plummet to his feet. “By the Gods, my lady, what were you thinking?”
“That someone should stop him,” she said. She sat back on her haunches and massaged her forehead. Her dress was covered with dirt and broken bits of dried leaves, as if she’d rolled on the ground. “Fortunate for you I did, or you might have hurt yourself.”
“What?” He touched his throat, which was tender. “Did you—?” He shook the thought away. “You should not—this is for the Foreign Office to handle, my lady!” He managed to stand, staggered, and looked around. Trees like streaks of burnt chocolate, colorful leaves scattered around their roots, a gray sky with lowering clouds. No sign of spring anywhere. He set off down the road, which wasn’t more than packed earth marked with wheel ruts that showed the road had recently flooded and then dried, stopped and looked around again. He had no idea which way the magician had gone.
Lady Caligwe stood and began brushing off her dress. “You think it is for your Foreign Office only? I think my country has some interest in an attack on Princess Jendaya.”
“You think that’s what it was?”
“Do you not? Was it not convenient that this happened when our party was present? If there is some secret faction within Dalanine that would kill the heir to Santerre’s throne, we should know.”
“This wasn’t—all right, he was Dalanese, but I assure you there is no plot against you.”
“You will excuse me if I do not take your assurance at face value, since you have done much to stop me finding this out on my own.”
Piercy blew out his breath in exasperation. “So you know we know the truth. Congratulations on your improved fluency. I see you have given up on the demure and innocent maiden ploy.”
Lady Caligwe shrugged. “There is no point, since you have seen the truth. And now I think we should pursue that man before he can escape us.”
“Oh, no. I am going to pursue him. You are returning to your party, your Highness.”
She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am not in the habit of giving orders to royalty, but in this case, I must with some forcefulness insist on it. Even were I not obliged to protect a lady, Miss Tedoratis would most certainly use my intestines for all manner of creative purposes were I to allow you to come to harm. I regret only that I cannot escort you myself. Now, from which direction did you arrive?”
Lady Caligwe, her eyes wide, covered her mouth with her hand. Then she began to la
ugh. “Mr. Faranter, I am not Princess Jendaya,” she said.
“You are not—but of course you are. You concealed your identity, you attempted to investigate us—”
“That is true. But I am very certain I am not the princess,” she said. “My name is Ayane Sethemba.”
Chapter Five
“Ayane Sethemba?” Piercy said. “As in Kinfe Sethemba?”
“My father,” Lady Caligwe—Lady Sethemba—said. “Why did you believe I was Jendaya?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Piercy said. “From which direction did you arrive?”
Lady Sethemba pointed past him. She wasn’t laughing, but her eyes gleamed as if she really wanted to. Piercy took several running steps in the indicated direction. There was nothing but barren forest and rutted road. His head hurt, his throat ached, and he was filled with dread. “There’s no way back,” he said. “The magician has trapped us.”
“I do not understand,” Lady Sethemba said. “What brought us here?”
Piercy leaned against the nearest tree, welcoming the rough coolness of the bark against his forehead. “I don’t know,” he said, “or, rather, I can only surmise. The magician created a place of power that linked the velocitor station with some other place. Some other time, also, given that it is now autumn. Since no one has followed us, I conclude it was temporary—whether he intended that or not, I have no idea—and now there is no way to return whence we came.”
“I do not understand what a place of power is.”
“You have none in Santerre?”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
Piercy closed his eyes against his irritation with the woman, not that it was rational to blame her for the Foreign Office’s embarrassing mistake. “Centuries ago, magicians had great power at their disposal, and since few of them had wisdom matching their magical prowess, most of them abused those powers beyond reason. Their magical battles, and oftentimes their experiments, warped the laws of nature in the places where they were most potent, in some cases permanently. There are places in which time passes differently, places where magic is visible or the land itself burns or freezes all the year long, even places where you enter and emerge elsewhere. Like this one, apparently.”
“But you spoke as if those things were in the past.”
“I thought they were. There haven’t been magicians capable of such creation in almost seven hundred years.” He refrained from mentioning the place of power that had emerged from the spell Kerensa Lorantis had carried within her for over a year; that spell had also come from the ancient time. “We must find the magician and force him to show us the exit, preferably one that does not leave us stranded outside our own time.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Lady Sethemba, that is the extent of my knowledge.”
“Then I suggest we proceed quickly. The man cannot be more than half an hour ahead of us.” Lady Sethemba shook out her skirts and strode off as quickly as their fullness would allow.
“No, my lady, I cannot—”
“If you are about to suggest I stay behind, Mr. Faranter, I will have to rate your intelligence rather lower than I already do.”
Stung, Piercy said, “We knew you were not who you claimed to be. I hardly think it indicates a lack of intelligence that we were inaccurate in our conclusions as to your actual identity.”
Lady Sethemba shrugged and continued to walk down the road, stumbling over the ruts. Piercy cursed and ran to catch up with her. “I was about to say,” he said, “you should allow me to go first.”
“Why?”
“For your protection, naturally. These woods could contain any number of dangers, including human ones.”
Lady Sethemba stopped. “And you think I need your protection?” she said. There was an edge to her voice that made Piercy nervous. He opened his mouth, searching for a response, and she overrode him with, “I fought for my country for five years, Mr. Faranter, fought and killed, something I doubt you have ever done. And if not for me, you likely would have hurt yourself in your temporary madness. Perhaps I should offer to protect you.”
Piercy remembered the feel of that arm around his throat, cutting off the blood to his brain and knocking him unconscious, and flushed with angry embarrassment. “I thank you for your intervention, but the madness would not have persisted much longer. And I have, in fact, killed men before, not that I take such pride in it as you seem to.”
“Pride in protecting those who would otherwise have died, yes.” Lady Sethemba turned her back on him and proceeded down the road with awkwardly mincing steps. Piercy followed her, grinding his teeth. He wasn’t the sort to believe all women were soft and weak; he had too many female colleagues in Home Defense who were skilled at combat to be able to delude himself so, and Kerensa was the strongest-willed person, male or female, he’d ever met. He was just having trouble reconciling the competent, abrasive woman walking up the road just ahead of him with the demure, shy young lady he’d courted so successfully. Though now he questioned whether that were actually true.
“I apologize if I gave offense,” he said, as sincerely as was possible through his clenched jaw. “Your disguise was very convincing.”
“As was yours,” Lady Sethemba said. “Though I do not understand what you intended to gain by pretending an attraction to me.”
So she had known. “I feel I must apologize for the impropriety of my attentions to you,” he said stiffly. Then he said, “Wait—what disguise?”
“Were you not pretending to be nothing but a flirt, with no thought for anything but your dress and your next conquest?”
His teeth would be worn to nubbins before he could find a way out of this place. “Of course,” he lied. “I am astonished you failed to see through my ruse.”
“I would never have allowed you to kiss me if I believed otherwise,” Lady Sethemba said. “I suppose we were both deceived.”
“Then I hope we can overcome our first impressions and work together to find this magician.” Piercy slowed, allowing her to lead so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. He’d completely misread her. He, the great wooer of women, deceived into thinking she genuinely welcomed his embrace. Well, he’d die before he let her know she’d fooled him. The Gods alone knew what weapon she might make of that—or she might only laugh at him, which would be ten thousand times worse.
They walked along the road in silence, listening to the distant birds in the trees and the occasional whistles of the wind blowing through the barren branches. The sun was invisible behind the thick clouds, which despite their appearance failed to drench them with rain. As the afternoon progressed with no end to the forest in sight, the air became colder and the sky darker.
Lady Sethemba shivered, now and then, and was soon rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. Without a word, Piercy removed his frock coat and draped it over her shoulders. She immediately removed it and handed it back to him. “I thank you, but your chivalry is unnecessary, Mr. Faranter,” she said.
“You are clearly cold, and my clothing is much heavier than yours,” Piercy said.
“Even so, I wish you would save your gallant gestures for someone who appreciates them,” she replied. Piercy scowled and draped his coat over his arm. Competent, abrasive, and stubborn. Well, if she wasn’t willing to accept his help even when she was in obvious need, the Underworld take her.
They came out of the forest about an hour before sunset, as best Piercy could tell through the clouds. The road continued onward down a relatively steep slope, where the ruts went crooked as if a cart had skidded and slid down the muddy path. Piercy didn’t offer Lady Sethemba his hand, reasoning that she might well bite it off and spit it at him, but made sure to go first just in case her delicate footwear betrayed her on the rough hillside and he had to catch her.
He cast a few furtive glances her way. She was still shivering, and worse, her soft shoes were tearing at the toes. In an hour or so, it would be dark, and he would have to insist on
her taking his coat, which would lead to another fight. He was starting to be emotionally weary as well as physically so.
“There is a town ahead,” Lady Sethemba said, pointing toward a sprinkling of lights a few hundred yards north of the road. “I wonder if our magician stopped there for the night.”
“We should at least inquire,” Piercy said, though privately he was afraid the magician might have more powerful spells at his disposal, spells to transport him wherever he wanted, or to shelter him out of doors. If that were the case, it might be impossible to find him.
The town—more of a village, really—consisted of a handful of low, thatch-roofed buildings whose plastered walls gleamed palely in the dusk. A few taller houses, their walls whitewashed, were scattered here and there. Piercy breathed out a sigh of relief. This was clearly Dalanese construction, so wherever and whenever the magician’s portal had taken them, they were still somewhere within Dalanine.
There were a few people passing through the streets, all of whom stared openly at Lady Sethemba—they might well never have seen a noble Santerran, or any Santerran, before. Piercy examined them covertly as they crossed the village’s main street, which was rough and torn from the passage of many carts and horses. The women wore dark dresses with tan or white ankle-length aprons over them; the men’s rough trousers were stuffed into very old-fashioned boots and their shirtsleeves belled out from the deep yokes—
Oh, by the Gods, no. Let me be wrong about this.
He glanced around them. True, there were many towns in Dalanine, most of them smaller hamlets, with centuries-old construction still in use, but these buildings didn’t look old or much repaired, they looked new. And the streets…no paving, which might be normal, but also no wooden walks to allow the villagers to stay out of the mud….
The God-Touched Man Page 5