by Joseph Lallo
“Out with it then.”
The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed at the order. “Bad news I’m afraid. Keverin managed to hold against the first attack.”
“How?” he snarled. “You said your sorcerers would overwhelm his mages. You said it was a mere formality. You said they’re amateurs!”
“A mere setback, I assure you.”
“I ought to throw you and your friends out. Keverin, fool that he is, would welcome me with open arms. Malcor will be on the winning side of this fight.”
“Be careful, lest your words be taken for other than a jest. You’re allied with us now. No one crosses Lord Mortain—may he live forever. Not if he wishes to live. Best you remember it.”
Athlone scowled. He should never have listened to the Mortain’s blandishments and offers. He should have ridden to Keverin’s aid as Jihan advised. Who knew, he may have contrived a way to rid the world of Keverin in the heat of battle.
“I assume you have a plan,” he said, and poured a single glass of wine.
Abarsis ignored the insult. “You will write a letter, and I’ll see it delivered in timely fashion.”
“A letter to whom?”
“To your friend, Bishop Jymis.”
“What has the Church to do with this?”
“Ah well, as to that there’s something I forgot to mention,” Abarsis said cheerfully, and without so much as a by your leave, he made himself comfortable in the chair nearest the fire to warm his hands. “I’m informed that Keverin has a new mage—a rather powerful one I was told.”
“And? Get to the point man!”
“I will then, since you ask so nicely. The mage is a woman.”
He gaped. It wasn’t possible! Keverin had secured himself a real live witch? Where did he get her? A witch... but that meant...
He smiled. “I see. I see indeed.”
“I thought you would,” Abarsis said smugly.
* * *
22 ~ God’s Will
Julia grimly forced her magic into the sleeping man, but there was something wrong. He blazed with white light in the realm of healing, but she’d been through this before with Ged and others. As soon as she stopped forcing magic into him, his aura would quickly dim to a fraction of its current intensity.
Nothing she tried made a difference. His aura looked bright and strong, as she’d come to expect of a healthy man in the realm of healing, but if she ignored the brightness and even the colour, she could see his aura didn’t roil and move about. It should be constantly moving, not almost static like this.
She stopped pushing, and watched his aura dim, but this time it started to unravel before her eyes. She tried to gather it back into shape, but it was like trying to grasp mist. There was literally nothing to hold onto. His aura slowly dispersed, and a tiny spark shot away into the distance. The tatters it left behind evaporated like steam.
She left the realm of healing, silently grieving. He was yet another man to add to the hundreds she’d failed to save. The first few times had been devastating. She’d thought that she’d killed them by doing something wrong, but a pattern soon emerged. A man with injuries severe enough to be in a coma, had more chance of dying than a man who was merely unconscious. That was no surprise. The same was true back home, and besides, she’d proven to herself that she could heal a comatose man by doing it. None of the injured had died who were awake during the healing, but if their auras were static, they always died. No exceptions—ever. It didn’t stop her from trying. She might need to use more magic. She had used more than ever this time, but it hadn’t made a difference. Next time, she would draw all of it, if that’s what it took to save someone.
Moriz and Halbert carefully lifted the body, and carried it away between them.
She watched them go, and sighed sadly. She felt drained without holding her magic, but Mathius wouldn’t like it if she stayed linked with it all the time. He was a dear friend, but she was coming to realise that he didn’t know as much as he thought he did where her magic was concerned. She often used it differently to him. He could be wrong about her limits.
“You should rest, lady. Your shoulder is bleeding again,” Mathius said.
She glanced at her shoulder and found her dress spotted with blood. She sighed again. Another dress ruined, and she’d been so careful. She’d been wearing a sling to support her arm since that terrible day, and she’d tried not to move it, but she obviously hadn’t been careful enough. She wished again that Mathius could heal, but he just wasn’t strong enough, and there was no one else. A poultice and bandage were her only option, because she couldn’t heal herself. She’d tried. When she’d looked for her own aura, she couldn’t even see it. She didn’t know why. One of many things that she didn’t know.
“I can’t. They need me.”
“You can’t save everyone!” Mathius cried, looking as if he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. “I know you feel responsible for them, but you’re not. How can you expect to build a wards? You’re a novice!”
She smiled tiredly, and patted his knee where he crouched beside her. “You’re kind, Mathius. I know I can’t save them all. Take me to the next one please.”
She might not be able to save them all, but she was still going to try. If she saved enough of them, the screaming in her head might stop.
Mathius helped her up, and steadied her while she surveyed the hall. There were eight or nine hundred injured men here the first few days after the attack. There were about fifty or so left. Dozens had died before she’d found her little book, but she’d saved hundreds since then. The thought didn’t comfort her very much. Some injuries looked minor, but were often serious—especially head wounds. Those caused by arrows were by far the easiest to heal; they just left a little hole. Other wounds were impossible to put right. She’d lost count of the number of men with missing fingers, hands, and even entire arms. Swords left hideous wounds. She’d tried to re-attach a man’s hand once, but without an aura to work upon, she was stuck. The hand had been dead too long was her guess, but it was only a guess. Too much was these days.
The poor man had been devastated by the news. Still young but crippled, he couldn’t follow his dream of serving as an Athione guardsman. Mathius said he would work for Janna in the kitchens. There were suddenly a great many extra servants in the halls. The sight made her want to cry.
“What time is it?” she said, noticing the gloom.
“It’s late, almost sundown. You need sleep!”
No wonder it was so dark. She grasped her magic and gestured, lighting all the lamps and chandeliers in one go.
Mathius gasped.
“What? You don’t think Keverin will mind do you? I don’t know how much things cost here,” she said, looking worriedly at the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers above her head.
Mathius shook his head dumbly.
She knelt beside the next man. All of her patients were serious cases now. The men with arrow wounds had been patched up and sent to barracks to recuperate. She had protested at first. It was cruel to send people away still hurting, but Jessica had insisted, and Julia later decided that she was right. Besides, she could always find them when no one was looking.
She grasped her magic again and tried to heal what ailed the man. He awoke a short time later, looking around the hall in surprise. She smiled tiredly at him, and he smiled back. It was worth any amount of tiredness when they woke, but why did he wake when others didn’t? This wasn’t the first time that she’d tried to wake him, yet here he was.
God’s will?
“What should I do now?” he said.
“Report to your captain tomorrow for re-assignment, and please be more careful,” she said. It’s what she always said.
“I will.”
She watched him leave, and then looked up at Mathius wearily. “Help me up?”
* * *
23 ~ The Vault
Keverin watched silently from the doorwa
y, as Julia moved to the next man. After a moment, he turned away and made his way to the west courtyard. It was still a mess. Marcus had ordered the men to pile heaps of rubble along the missing section of wall to act as a barricade for archers. It was a good plan, and completely redundant.
The men had christened the crevasse, Julia’s Gap, but it had thankfully been shortened to The Gap since then. The enemy hadn’t managed a serious attack since its creation, and had contented themselves with throwing men’s lives away by attempting to string a bridge. It made no sense to him. Even if they could string a bridge across, and by some miracle prevent him from burning it, they still wouldn’t be able to get men across in sufficient numbers to threaten Athione. A handful of men could hold this end of a narrow bridge indefinitely.
He marched back into the citadel, and made his way down to the vault, nodding to the guardsmen stationed along the route. He didn’t linger. There had been something on his mind since he awoke in the great hall with Julia staring worriedly down at him. It was time to resolve that. He reached the first barrier, a steel barred gate, and inserted his key in the lock. He’d commissioned it to replace the old iron lock when he placed a certain item in the vault.
Swinging open the barred gate, he stepped inside, and re-locked it. A short distance further on, he confronted the final barrier. It seemed strange to expect a wooden barrier to be stronger than a steel one, but he did. Darius had used the strongest ward he knew how to make on it. He unlocked it and stepped inside. He paused as Darius’ spell checked to see who had entered, and shivered at the feel of it. The feeling ebbed after a few moments, and he stepped up to one of the tables. He wasn’t interested in the chests standing on other tables ringing the walls. They merely contained the wealth his ancestors had accumulated over the last eleven hundred years of ruling Athione. The fortress was constructed in the year 81 AF, and his family had held it in an unbroken line ever since.
The chest bolted to the centre table held a thing far rarer than gold. It was a thick book bound in black leather, and ancient, but it still had the scent of new leather about it. A spell lost during the chaotic years after the founding, had been used to preserve it.
He read the gold lettering on the cover. Bridging Worlds: Translocation for Sorcerers.
Everything in it was beyond his ability to understand. His father had owned the book for many years not knowing its worth, but even as a boy he’d known it was special. He smiled remembering the day his father revealed it to him, and how he’d tried to learn the magic it contained. He’d been too young back then to realise that without the mage gift, he had no chance of that. Later, it was the first book to be placed in his library.
Then the day had dawned when Darius ran into his study clutching it in his arms, he remembered…
Darius burst into Keverin’s study, highly agitated. “My lord, you must hide this before another mage sees it!”
“Hide what, and why?”
“This!” Darius said, brandishing the book.
Frowning, he read the title and recognised it. “What’s wrong with it?
“Nothing! It’s priceless! It’s probably the only copy in the world. God forbid there’s one in Castle Black! It has the theory of gate building completely detailed from first principles. It even has examples!”
“But that’s good is it not?”
“For the sake of knowledge yes,” Darius said, pacing the room. “But in the real world it’s a disaster waiting to happen! A strong enough mage could open a gate to anywhere with this. Even from Castle Black into your bed chamber!”
Keverin smiled, remembering his friend. He missed his voice around the halls, and he especially missed his counsel. Marcus was a fine captain, and he considered him a friend, but he couldn’t ask certain things of him. They weren’t close in the way he and Darius had been close.
He sighed.
He had friends among the men, but none of them could relate to him the way Darius had, or Purcell could—as equals. They could never forget that he had the power of life and death over them. Even in trivial matters, it stood there, an invisible barrier between them.
He looked down at the book he held, and then around the room, hesitating to take the next irrevocable step. Darius had constructed a ward on the vault to stop intruders. The book should be safe here. There was nothing to see, but if anyone came inside without the ruling lord of Athione, he would die and worse than die—he would cease to exist even as a corpse.
He frowned as he remembered their conversations regarding the vault’s protections. He’d been leaning toward simply destroying the book, right then and there. Darius had been torn; it was a treasure beyond price, but he’d finally agreed. If loss of the fortress seemed imminent, if he took the book out of the vault for any reason, preservation spell or no, it would be destroyed. That last part was his idea. Even if forced at sword point to retrieve it from the vault, it would burn. Not even he could circumvent the ward.
He opened the ancient tome and browsed its pages. With war and invasion now a reality, how could anyone trust the knowledge that it contained wouldn’t be used for evil? He didn’t know the answer. Thinking about Darius’ letter, and the legion in the pass, he slammed the book shut, and turned toward the door. His determination hardening into action.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Darius screaming, and he stumbled to a halt, uncertainty rising in him again. His friend had sacrificed himself using the knowledge in the book. The cursed thing was the cause of his death! He took another step, but paused again as he remembered the tired girl tending his men. She would be trapped here the moment he stepped out of the vault. He would be imprisoning her, trapping her on a world not even hers, after all she’d done to protect his men and home. Where was the justice in that, where was the honour in doing such a thing?
He gritted his teeth, and took a firm hold of himself. He had to think of the greater good, not of one girl. If the book fell into the sorcerers’ hands, it could literally hand the kingdom to them, if not the entire world. Far more than Athione and Deva could be lost. Gates could be built to transport Hasian legions to anywhere in the world. No, the book must be destroyed. He marched toward the door as pictures of Julia throwing lightning and fire formed in his head. He clutched the book to his chest, and stopped on the threshold. Do it. Step outside and destroy the book. That’s what he needed to do. It was sense. It was the right thing, but it wasn’t the honourable thing…
The most important thing that his father had taught him as a boy, was to always choose the honourable path. When in doubt, his father would say, look for where the most honour is to be found. A noble rarely stumbles when pursuing it, but often does when he ignores it. Without honour, we are nothing.
Keverin frowned hard at the book in his hands. If he destroyed it, Julia would have to stay, and he needed her now more than ever. She would have to stay, he would be forcing her to stay—he would be forcing an innocent girl to fight for him. It made him sick. There was no honour in it. None. He turned around and locked the book back in the chest. He was a fool, and knew it. Julia would leave and Deva would be conquered. All for honour.
Yes, but without honour we are nothing.
He locked the vault and the gate beyond. Nodding to the guard, he walked back the way he’d come, trying not to regret his decision. He caught a glimpse of Julia as he neared the open doors of the great hall, and stopped to watch. She was kneeling beside one of the men, reaching to lay hands upon his head. It was late. He should go in and order her to rest, but what if more of the injured died for lack of her aid while she slept? What if the Hasians mounted another sorcerous attack, and she was too tired to fight? He growled under his breath at the thought of putting her in harm’s way. It was wrong. It was anathema to any Devan to allow harm to befall a woman. The God blast him for a fool, he had to decide! He opened his mouth to order her to bed, and…
“M’lord!” Elise hailed him. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Julia looked up, and frowned at him.
He spun away from her narrowing eyes. “What is it?” he snapped, more sternly than intended.
“The bishop has come m’lord.”
“Has he?”
“Father Gideon is attending him, but he demands audience with you.”
“He does, does he?” he said, feeling anger churn in his belly.
Elise nodded. “Will you see him, m’lord?”
Only the king dared demand an audience with him in his own fortress, and even then he’d better have a darn good reason. Still, this was the bishop. Allowances had to be made for the Church. He wondered what was so important that Jymis couldn’t wait for the morning to discuss it. Nothing good he would wager.
“I’ll see him.”
Elise looked relieved. “He’s waiting in your study.”
“You put him in there!” he almost shrieked, but managed to keep his voice down to a low roar. “You should have shown him to—” he frowned, remembering that the great hall was still in use. “—somewhere,” he finished lamely. “But not in my study. Who knows what kind of mischief he’s up to?”
Elise wasn’t surprised by his dislike of the bishop. All his people knew they didn’t get along. Still, Jymis was the bishop and the position at least was due his respect. Lords were by no means untouchable where the Church was concerned. It was a narrow path he walked between his people’s welfare, and censure from the Church.
Father Gideon now, he would have made a fine bishop, but then he was biased where Gideon was concerned. The old man had been a priest at Athione for over forty years. That was almost longer than he’d been alive.
“Marcus suggested your study.”
Marcus had suggested it. If Marcus had suggested that, there must be something seriously amiss.
“I’ll see him,” he said again, and made his way to his study.
* * *
24 ~ Bishop
Keverin hurried through the maze of corridors imagining all kinds of dire news. The Holy Father was dead, the king was, he was being censured for not making sufficient donations, and the list went on. So it was with surprise that quickly turned to dismay, when he heard the real reason for Jymis’ visit.