by Joseph Lallo
He mounted the dais, passing behind Julia and his mother before bending to speak with Gylaren. “Sorry I missed the start, Gy. Something came up.”
Gylaren lowered the fork, and the piece of meat he’d been about to eat. “May I ask? Was it the sorcerers?”
“Not them. Letters from Devarr.”
“Morfran,” Gylaren growled.
He patted his friend’s shoulder. It didn’t take much to set Gy off where Morfran was concerned. “Yes him, and one from Farran.”
“Nothing bad I hope.”
“I don’t want to say in front of so many. Perhaps you’ll have a private drink with me later tonight.”
“Honoured,” Gylaren said, inclining his head.
He patted Gy’s shoulder again. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Taking his place beside his mother, he tried to ignore the glare she directed his way, but finally acknowledged it with another apology. She nodded grudgingly.
“Where were you? Gy was ever so hurt,” Jessica said.
No he wasn’t. Jessica was trying to make him feel guilty for being late. “I apologised to him. I received a letter from Farran. I wanted to read it without delay.”
“How is he?”
“He’s well. He thanks you for your kind words about his poems, and asks if you would like another volume.”
“Certainly!” Jessica said, beaming with pleasure. “He’s very talented.”
“He doesn’t think so, but I agree.”
Jessica turned away to speak with Marcus, allowing him to avail himself of food and drink. As he ate, he watched Julia surreptitiously. She was picking at her food without much interest. She looked tired, and although Purcell was making an heroic effort to draw her out, she seemed withdrawn and uninterested in converse. He frowned as she drank a full glass of wine, and started upon another, but it seemed to perk her up a little. She smiled and began chatting.
He was glad to see her enjoy herself. He set about doing the same.
* * *
33 ~ Diversion
Navarien looked around at the remnants of his legion; it was a mere shadow of what it had been. He’d lost half his force due to the girl’s intervention in the assault, but he’d lost hundreds more since then to Athione’s bowmen. He used to think of Belgard as an intelligent man—weaker than other sorcerers perhaps, but approachable. Now he didn’t know what to think. The fool would finish what the bitch sorceress had started! It was insane trying to bridge the crevasse under these conditions, and the men were becoming rebellious. He didn’t blame them.
He paused outside his tent, and watched Lucius pacing the perimeter of the camp. The black-robed figure made a lonely impression despite the camp’s bustle. He’d started taking his long walks, a few days after he’d lost his position as lead mage. Belgard had allowed it. No chains were needed to keep him prisoner—not with so many sorcerers on hand, and besides, he seemed resigned to his fate.
Thoughts of Belgard gloating over his mirror as men died, pointlessly trying to string a bridge they would never complete, hardened his resolve. He marched across the camp, heading for the one man who might take action.
“General,” Lucius said, as they crossed paths on the perimeter of the camp. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”
He hated being so obvious, especially with Belgard watching. “My Lord Sorcerer—”
“No longer that, I’m afraid.”
“Lucius then,” he said impatiently.
“Aren’t you afraid of catching my affliction? You should be you know. Belgard won’t like you fraternising with the enemy.”
“You’re hardly the enemy.”
Lucius shrugged. “He won’t see it that way, but you’re here now. Walk with me awhile?”
They wandered slowly around the camp together, the sentries snapping to attention and saluting fist to heart, as they approached. He acknowledged their salutes, but reserved most of his attention for Lucius. He seemed remarkably at ease for a man with a death sentence hanging over his head.
“If you don’t mind my saying, you seem amazingly calm under the circumstances.”
Lucius smiled wryly. “A burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Thanks to Belgard, I no longer have any duties or obligations, and no responsibility for your men’s welfare. It’s quite liberating really.”
“Talking of the men, why are mine dying? I’ve protested the lunacy of this so-called attack every morning since the assault. Belgard just nods and smiles at me! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, dammit! I’m supposed to command the legion, while he leads the mages. Instead, he orders me to send men to their deaths, while he uses that mirror of his and does nothing!”
Lucius gestured at him to keep his voice down. “Calmly General, calmly. You don’t want to end up like me,” he said, and fell silent as they neared the mages sitting at their ease outside their tents. He resumed once they were out of earshot. “I never wanted to be a mage, you know. Surprising is it not? My father was an excellent artist. I’d always thought to follow his example one day. Instead, two men wearing black robes stole me away. Years later, after my... training, I went home, but my family was gone.”
“What does your past have to do with what’s happening now?”
“Nothing directly. What I’m trying to say, in my no doubt confusing way, is that training dictates action. Belgard differs from me only in the lengths he’s willing to go to achieve his goals. We both underwent the same training, and because of that, I know what he’ll do in nearly all cases. You see? In my experience, mages left to their own devices as Belgard has been, will do magely things. Just as soldiers seek battle, mages seek knowledge and power… you look sceptical, General.”
He schooled his features. “In my experience, mages simply fight with spells rather than with swords.”
“Bah! That’s a recent development. The gifted were primarily scholars and artisans in the early years after the Founding. We built things, things such as that,” Lucius said, indicating the fortress looming ahead of them. “Magnificent isn’t it? But building aside, we loved poking into things to see what crawled out. All in the past now I’m afraid. These days we jostle for power and make war upon our enemies.”
They came to the road, and Navarien witnessed another corpse brought down from the construction site. He sighed at the waste. It wouldn’t be long before the men refused to obey his orders, and then his problems would truly begin. Could he bring himself to execute a man for refusing orders, when obeying was certain death? He didn’t think so.
“This is my fault,” he said grimly. “All of it. I shouldn’t have pushed you to attack. It was too soon.”
“You’re mistaken, General. Mortain gave me five days to take the fortress, and that’s why I ordered the attack. No other reason. He doesn’t care about losses. He just wants results. Do you remember our first day here?”
He nodded.
“I recall that Belgard spent a lot of time watching the girl, and later reported to me that she represented no danger. I believed him of course. Woman are never mages. Since that day, I keep coming back to his interest in her.”
“Are you saying he knew? Why not warn us?”
“I think he knew. He didn’t take part in the attack, and he was the only mage not prostrated when you began your assault. He was using the mirror, again. When I awoke toward the end of the battle, he’d already reported failure to Lord Mortain—may he live forever—and I was removed from my position. As for why he didn’t warn us, that’s easy—he wanted to be lead mage.”
“Half my legion dead because he wanted to be lead mage? I don’t believe it,” he said, feeling a sinking sensation in his gut.
Lucius shrugged. “Maybe it’s just paranoia on my part, but Belgard has always puzzled me. At Castle Black he was always first with the correct answer. Always the best at scrying, which is a hard discipline to master. Always first in sensing magic. These things should indicate a very
powerful mage indeed, but apparently he’s only average.”
They fell silent again as they neared the tents. Lucius’ paranoia was infectious. He couldn’t help noticing the many black robed figures that just happened to be lounging around watching them stroll by. He’d often been angry with the mages attached to his command. Black robes were always a pain, but he’d never judged them as enemies before. He did now. No... not enemies. Enemy. Belgard was entirely to blame for all that was wrong with this campaign. That made him someone to remove from the equation.
“If Belgard is so very powerful, why hide it? Come to that, can it even be hidden?”
“Why is again obvious. Mortain doesn’t allow rivals to prosper. As to how he did it, I’m at a loss to explain.”
“You can’t prove any of this can you? And what does it have to do with sending my men to their deaths?”
“I can’t prove anything concerning Belgard, General, but I do know why this half-hearted attack is going on.”
“Oh?”
“Your men are dying to keep Devan attention focused upon us, while Third Legion attacks from the north. Fortress Malcor is secretly allied with us.”
It was a good strategy. Keeping one’s opponent focused in one direction, while secretly striking elsewhere, was a fine plan, but for one thing. The diversionary force belonged to him, and losses were already colossal.
“Why wasn’t I informed?” he said angrily. “I could have made allowances, planned better or differently!”
Lucius stopped and turned to face him. “We weren’t expected to fail, if that’s what you’re thinking. The girl couldn’t be anticipated. We only turned into a diversion after the assault failed.”
“Half my legion dead, for nothing,” he said bitterly.
“Not for nothing. Deva will still fall.”
No doubt it would, but that didn’t help him. “It might work, but my men are still dying.”
“The only solution that I can see, is an immediate and full force magical attack on the fortress. Kill the girl, and blast the fortress until they evacuate. Only then should you build your bridge. Belgard won’t order that, it would go against Mortain’s wishes.”
“There must be something we can do.”
Lucius studied him for a long moment. “I feel for you and your men, truly I do, but I’m no longer in any position to help you. Every man wearing the black is waiting for me to try something. You’ve seen them watching me.”
He nodded reluctantly. “If you were me, what would you do?”
“Pray. Pray that something changes to cause Belgard to abandon this course.”
“Pray!” he said in outrage. “I need something a lot stronger than prayer!”
Lucius shrugged. “I’ve been praying a lot lately.”
“For what?”
“For Belgard to get the pocks and die.”
* * *
Belgard laughed and let the image in his mirror fade. “Oh Lucius, how can you be so right, and yet be so wrong at the same time?”
He put his mirror aside, pondering what he’d heard. The General’s weakness was a disappointment; he’d hoped to use him later. The death of so many of his legionnaires was regrettable of course, but what Navarien failed to realise, was that they were serving a purpose dying where the girl could watch. He’d come to know her and her weaknesses quite well. She was powerful, but emotionally weak, as all women were. With her talent, he would have destroyed the legion to the last man, but what does she do?
Precisely nothing.
That wasn’t quite true he amended, she had learned to heal, but while she was spending her time doing that, she wasn’t learning more useful and destructive things. She had chosen the path of a healer, when her strengths obviously lay in the opposite direction. If she’d been a man, she would have made for an amazing battle mage. She would probably have been leading her own legion by now… if she’d been born a man of the Protectorate. No, she should have chosen the path of a destroyer, not a healer, but he knew why she hadn’t. She was trying to atone.
He rolled his eyes at the notion.
She was trying to atone for the deaths that she’d caused, for the deaths that she hadn’t prevented during the battle, and for the deaths of her friends that she’d failed to heal. All of them had hit her hard. He knew that from watching her sleeping. Bad dreams tormented her; she awoke screaming most nights. Navarien’s men might be the enemy from her point of view, but she felt just as guilty about their deaths. If he was right, she wouldn’t stand back and do nothing for much longer, and of course, he would have no choice but to retaliate.
He laughed as he imagined Mortain’s outrage. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I know you ordered me to hold Athione’s attention and not attack, but they attacked us first. What could I do? The sorceress was killing the General’s men. I had to retaliate, didn’t I?”
He calmed himself and nodded thoughtfully. His plan was simple, but it would work. Athione would fall soon enough. When it did, the spell that Darius used to summon Julia would be his. No one would be beyond his reach; not even the master of Castle Black himself.
He smiled.
* * *
34 ~ Burnout
“Is there nothing you can do?” Mathius said, looking at Renard sadly.
Julia sighed. She’d heard those words a lot. Can you not kill the sorcerers? Can you not make a bridge for us? Can you not save us?
“I’ve tried lots of times, you know I have, but nothing works. I think he was connected to the ward when it fell, and the backlash burned out his gift.”
Mathius looked horrified. “If that’s true, he won’t want to live.”
She nodded.
Mathius had been caring for his friend, but he’d found feeding him difficult, and it showed. Renard’s eyes were sunken into dark pits, and although they were open, his slack expression proved no one was home. It was heart-breaking seeing him like this. When they’d first met, he’d been almost dancing for joy. He’d been so happy that his ward matrix was proven to work, and it had been his own design, not learned from a book. Now all he did was sit in a chair and stare at nothing.
“What about letting him share your magic?”
“I don’t know how to do that. Renard linked to me remember, not the other way around.”
“I hate to say it, but he really would be better off dead than live like this.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t convinced that anyone was better off dead. Would she want to come back without her magic? It didn’t matter because their situations weren’t comparable. Magic was new to her, but Renard’s entire life was based upon his being a mage. She didn’t know what he would prefer, but she couldn’t stand by and watch him wither away.
Standing behind him, she clasped his head in both hands, and delved his aura; it barely took any effort or thought at all anymore. The realm of healing swallowed her, and Renard’s familiar aura appeared. It was bright and vigorously moving, as a healthy aura should, but looking closer, she could see the dull and lifeless sapphire deep within. Instead of a beautiful jewel filled with life and magic, she found a muddy and cloudy blue crystal.
She willed her healing magic to turn blue, but it resisted her. She gritted her teeth, and forced it to change. It became a dirty looking pale blue, but it fought her all the way. She drew more power as it faded back to the familiar white that she was used to seeing, and it flickered between the two colours. Groaning at the strain, she drew harder on her magic, and flinched.
God... it hurts!
Healing had never hurt her before. It often tired her, but it had never given her pain. She forced herself to ignore it, not willing to give up this time. She wanted Renard back the way she remembered him. With the increased flow, her magic stopped fighting her; its colour finally matched her memory of what she’d found within Mathius, but it felt wrong in her head, and she didn’t know how to fix it. Not knowing what else to do, she aimed it at the lifeless jewel, hopi
ng for the best, and it blazed with sapphire coloured light.
It worked!
She let her magic return to normal, and well-being filled her again, easing her pain. She studied her work, and noted how bright the sapphire had become. It was beautiful, and full to bursting with magic. It was much brighter than the sapphire she’d found within Mathius. It was becoming brighter—intolerably bright. Something wasn’t right.
God, what do I do?
She reached out, hoping to do something, but it hurt to touch like grabbing a live wire. She clamped a fist of magic around it, ignoring the pain, but it continued to blaze unaffected. She let go and watched helplessly as Renard’s aura became unsettled. It roiled and spun, orbiting the blazing light at its centre, and becoming steadily more compact. It was being drawn into the sapphire’s light, changing colour to match, and merging with it! It was no bigger than a golf ball now... a marble... a pinprick of light like a star in the sky... gone.
I’ve killed him!
* * *
Mathius watched intently, but he couldn’t detect any of the healing spells that he’d read about. He doubted Julia would use them anyway. She had her own methods, methods that made no sense to him, but had proven very effective. She was too polite to say, but he knew that she wasn’t impressed with some of the things he’d tried to teach her. Not that he could teach her anything about healing. She already knew far more than he about it. She was probably using one of the patterns that she insisted were so important, but he couldn’t tell.
She blazed with power, so much that even Darius—the strongest mage he’d ever met—would have been burnt to a cinder. Julia wasn’t even close to what she could draw. He’d watched her heal dozens of men without pause, and keep going long after other mages would have quit for fear of making mistakes. Such mistakes led to ageing and death. He didn’t doubt that she was a true sorceress—the first in the world.
Julia blazed brighter than ever and flinched. “Hnnn!”