The Tainted City

by Courtney Schafer

  Sechaveh smiled thinly. “The cause remains to be determined. Captain, I am no mage, but I understand something of Alathian magic. You are not experts in the use of confluence energies. In a situation as delicate as this, I cannot afford to have well-intentioned but inexpert mages meddling with the great forces of the Well of the World.”

  Marten said, “I understand your concern, Lord Sechaveh. But unlike many mages in Ninavel, our magic does not depend on the confluence. We need not disturb its forces when we cast. Consider further: how well do you trust the mages you rule? These disturbances might well be caused by one of them seeking to depose you. You know our motive in this matter, and it has nothing to do with your rule of the city. You can trust we cannot be suborned, and will report to you the whole of all we find.”

  Sechaveh tapped his ringed fingers one after the other against the stone of his chair. “You make a good argument, Captain. Yet I must be cautious with the confluence, and have not the expertise to fully judge your claim that your magic does not disturb it. Here is my offer: you may make your case to my lead investigator. If he agrees to accept your help and you are willing to work under his direction, then I will gladly take your Council’s terms. I’ll give you and your team sanction to perform magic without restriction, and such protection as I can provide.”

  Marten smiled brightly, but I could tell from the rigidity of his posture he wasn’t happy. I wasn’t either. Every moment we stood here gave Ruslan more time to plan his spellwork, and now we’d have to wait for yet another meeting?

  “Call in a mage to verify our methods of casting if you must, but would it not be better for us to act independently?” Marten asked. “Especially if one among your inner circle is a traitor.”

  Sechaveh leaned back in his chair, his lizard’s eyes half-lidding again. “I repeat: in this situation, I must be cautious. You have only two choices, Captain. Work under my lead investigator, or run along home to Alathia and wait for me to sort this out. And I assure you, it will be sorted out.” This time his smile showed his teeth.

  Kiran was looking more worried by the moment. I willed Marten to agree already. The sooner he did, the sooner we could get the fuck on with this. Halassian might think Sechaveh’s lead investigator clever, but I didn’t doubt Marten could manipulate the man in his sleep, scholar or no.

  Marten’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “When may we meet with your lead investigator?”

  “No need to wait, Captain,” Sechaveh said. “I arranged in advance for him to join us.” He nodded to the guardsmen standing against the back wall. They swung the chamber doors wide.

  Ruslan swept into the room. I recognized the arrogant confidence of his walk even before I saw the unmistakable red and black sigils patterning his clothes, the sigils every resident of Ninavel learns to fear. Shock turned my body to stone, a prayer to Suliyya yammering in my head.

  Kiran went the color of old snow. Stevan, Lena, and Talm drew closer to him, their eyes slitted and their lips shaping rapid, silent syllables.

  Three mages tied up with Kiran’s amulet, leaving Marten and Kessaravil to fight Ruslan if he cast against us…I had the terrible feeling that wasn’t enough. I tensed, ready to run. Only thing I could do if it came to a magical fight was get the hell out of the way.

  “It’s my understanding that you and Ruslan Khaveirin have already met, Captain,” Sechaveh said, his voice bland.

  I spared a moment to curse Halassian’s incompetence. Did the Alathians know nothing of shadow work? Surely she could’ve found out her damn Seranthine wasn’t the one in charge if she’d tried.

  Marten didn’t blink, but the muscles under his mage’s uniform were as tight as guy ropes. “Then you well know this man is no friend to Alathia.”

  Ruslan never took his eyes off Kiran. “A matter that can be easily remedied.” His voice was clear, but full of that odd accent I’d never been able to place, much stronger than Kiran’s barely noticeable one. His coloring was odd, too. He had the golden skin and almond-shaped eyes of a Korassian, but his eyes were hazel in color, his hair auburn instead of shining black. Even so, it always surprised me Ruslan looked so damn normal. You’d think a blood mage should have red teeth and clawed nails, or a silver, triply forked tongue like the demons in the southerners’ tales. If not for the sigils’ warning, you could almost mistake Ruslan for a highsider, his arrogance that of wealth rather than power. Almost, until you saw his eyes, or his smile.

  “Kiran remains under Alathia’s protection,” Marten said, his tone a warning.

  Ruslan laughed, a smooth, dark chuckle. “Does he?” He turned to Sechaveh. “You asked me to consider allowing these foreigners to investigate under my direction. I doubt their efforts will prove helpful, but as a favor to you I will agree…if they return my apprentice, Kiran ai Ruslanov, whom they have stolen from me and even now stands in their midst.”

  I ground my teeth and glared at Marten’s profile. He should have seen this coming, damn him. Kiran was staring at Ruslan with glassy, terrified gaze of a roundtail cornered by a direwolf.

  “Kiran came to Alathia of his own free will and requested our protection,” Marten said to Sechaveh. “When we gave it, this man threatened to destroy us. Yet we are still willing to work with him if he revokes this unreasonable demand.”

  Willing to work with Ruslan? What the fuck was Marten thinking? We ought to be leaving. Now. I backed a step and bumped into Kessaravil’s solid, unmoving bulk. He clamped my arm in an iron grip.

  Sechaveh regarded Marten. His rings chimed against stone in slow, maddening cadence. “Ruslan’s request seems perfectly reasonable to me. The boy is his property, after all, and not Alathian. If you return him to Ruslan, it would go far toward showing us your good will.”

  There were times when I could understand the Alathians’ disgust toward Ninavel. I burned to protest, but held my tongue. I wasn’t so dumb as to think Sechaveh would listen to a streetsider like me, assuming Kessaravil let me get a word out. Marten would have to talk us out of this, and by Khalmet, he’d better pull it off.

  Marten laughed, without humor. “Forgive me, Lord Sechaveh, but even if we handed Kiran over, I do not believe Ruslan Khaveirin would soften his attitude towards us. Have we not all heard tales of the lengths he will go to satisfy a grudge? Giving him Kiran would only make him the more eager to seek revenge, which would distract us all from more important matters.”

  Sechaveh steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “The captain has a point, Ruslan. I know your temper of old, my friend, and it has already cost me the city’s best source of knowledge on confluence energies.”

  Ruslan moved his broad shoulders in a graceful shrug. “It was your decision to exile Simon Levanian from Ninavel. I merely enforced your desires.”

  Sechaveh’s weathered face twisted in irritation. “I ordered him exiled, not killed. Now his knowledge is lost to us.”

  When Pello told me of Sechaveh and Simon, he’d made it sound like Sechaveh simply hadn’t been able to break the protections warding a blood mage to kill Simon. If Sechaveh had made a deliberate choice to let Simon live, then I thought him an overconfident idiot. But if he was annoyed over Simon’s death, that was a lever Marten could use. Sure enough, Marten had the air of a hunting cat that had scented prey.

  “Simon lived for twenty years in exile safe and sound,” Ruslan said. “Had he stayed there, he would yet live. His own choices led to his destruction.”

  “Choices provided by you,” Marten said. “Lord Sechaveh, perhaps you have not heard the full tale of Simon’s destruction. Ruslan used his apprentice as bait to draw Simon out of Alathia, and gambled your life and the fate of Ninavel on the slim chance Kiran could disrupt Simon’s spellwork enough to destroy him. All this, to satisfy his own desire for vengeance.”

  This was the story I’d hoped to sell to Pello, both for Melly’s sake and in hope of drawing Sechaveh’s anger toward Ruslan. I held my breath, watching Sechaveh.

  Instead of angry, the old
bastard looked amused. “A gamble that paid off for him, it would seem. I always admire a man who can play a clever game.”

  Shit. Marten had better have another line of attack in mind.

  “Gamble with Ninavel all you like, but keep your games confined to Arkennland.” Marten’s face set in stern lines. “The next time you exile a dangerous mage like Simon Levanian who threatens the security of Alathia’s borders, provide us warning—or the terms Ninavel’s merchants receive will become unfavorable indeed.”

  For the first time, Ruslan looked directly at Marten. “Ah yes, it all comes down to your precious border. I imagine your Council is quite upset over the threat I pose, are they not?” He smiled, sharp and predatory. “I meant what I said to you two months ago, Captain. You keep my apprentice at your peril. But in light of these recent disturbances…I am willing to set aside my enmity, if you return him to me. Think of it, Captain! You can return to your Council with the news that your beloved border wards are safe not only from confluence fluctuations, but from me.”

  His smile widened into something that flooded my body with the deep, animal instinct to run. Kiran jerked as if flame-touched. He lifted his chin, desperate defiance printed on his face.

  Marten only raised a disbelieving brow and said dryly to Ruslan, “I am not so gullible as to take your word for it.” I had to give him points for not flinching in the face of that smile.

  “Would you take mine?” Sechaveh sat back, looking down his nose at them both. “Return Ruslan’s apprentice, Captain, and I will ensure that he works no magic against you or Alathia.”

  Marten’s air of skepticism grew deeper yet. “I know something of your methods, Lord Sechaveh. You can deny Ruslan the confluence, true. That would not stop his casting, only restrict him to the use of lesser spells.”

  Khalmet’s hand, why was Marten even talking about this? He ought to tell Sechaveh to dive straight into Shaikar’s deepest hell. We weren’t getting the protection we’d come for. Better to leave and figure out an alternate plan, fast.

  Kiran was balanced on the balls of his feet like he wanted to bolt. But he met my gaze with mute frustration and cut his eyes toward Stevan, who stood statue-still, his features twisted with effort.

  My own frustration burned just as hot. Kiran was chained to Stevan by the amulet, and Kessaravil’s grip hadn’t left my arm…I glared at Marten, praying he’d hurry up and see sense.

  “Oh, I can do more than forbid Ruslan the confluence,” Sechaveh said. “You know the binding nature of a blood vow, yes? If Ruslan gives me such a vow and consigns his blood to the confluence…” He pointed at the fiery sea within the obsidian rings. “Should he break the vow, the confluence will burn him to ash.”

  “I would gladly forswear my vengeance,” Ruslan added smoothly. “All I want is my apprentice back, Captain. Once I have him, Alathia is no concern of mine.”

  Suliyya grant Marten wasn’t buying into this pile of goat shit. To my relief, his dubious expression didn’t change.

  “Perhaps you doubt me,” Sechaveh said. “How do you imagine I’ve reigned here this last century, over men and women with more magic in their least breath than exists in all the charms I own? Every mage who wishes to reside here must swear such a vow, never to cast against me.”

  Marten frowned. “Simon Levanian cast against you before you exiled him.”

  “He cast against the mages I employ, thinking if he removed those who protect me, a knife might suffice where his magic could not.”

  Marten shook his head, slowly. “Perhaps there’s truth in what you say. But I need time to think on this…there may be another way we can come to accord.”

  Finally, talk of leaving. And yeah, if Marten left the option open of handing Kiran over, he might buy us more time before Ruslan started spellcasting.

  Sechaveh’s face hardened. “I have no patience for men who dally. You’ve heard my offer. Fair and reasonable terms, Captain. Either take them and begin your investigation, or leave my city this day. The decision is yours, but you must make it now.”

  Oh, shit. I willed Marten to say no. We’d have to leave the city, yeah—the embassy’s wards wouldn’t hold if Sechaveh sent a host of mages against us along with Ruslan—but I knew a couple places we could hole up in the lower reaches of the Whitefires. There must be a way we could sneak back, investigate covertly instead. Marten couldn’t be considering agreeing to give Kiran over. Not even he could be such a gutless weasel.

  “Marten,” Kiran said, low and urgent. Marten was staring at Ruslan with his boyish face clean of expression. Ruslan wore a tiny smile.

  Marten’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Very well. We’ll take your offer.”

  Mother of maidens, no! My shout died unvoiced in my throat, as Kessaravil’s grip tightened and magic turned my muscles to stone. I strained against his spell that locked me in place. I might as well have tried to move a mountain.

  Kiran stumbled backward, abject horror on his face. “Marten, please—!” His cry cut off as Stevan grabbed his wrist. I cast a desperate glance at Lena. Don’t let Marten do this, I begged her silently.

  Lena’s freckles stood out dark against skin gone sallow, but she refused to meet my gaze. It was Talm who spoke. “Captain, this can’t be the way—”

  “Lieutenant.” Marten transfixed him with a look as cold and forbidding as an ice cliff in midwinter. He held Talm’s gaze until Talm shut his mouth and bent his head.

  I cursed Talm for a coward. As for Lena, hatred was too kind a word for what choked me. I’d known Marten’s cheerful benevolence was an act. But Lena…I’d thought she was honest. Had they known from the start Ruslan was in charge? Was that the true reason Marten had wanted Kiran to come? Cold descended over me.

  Marten said to Sechaveh, “If—if!—Ruslan Khaveirin gives a blood vow he will cast no spells with intent to harm me, my team members, or the country of Alathia, not only for the duration of this investigation but as long as he lives…then we will return Kiran to his custody and work with him in our investigation.”

  Ruslan’s eyes burned with eager triumph. “I will vow. Though in the interest of clarity…I do not count Kiran among your team.”

  My stomach rolled over. Of course Ruslan wouldn’t risk the slightest chance a vow might prevent him from ripping Kiran’s mind apart and doing gods knew what else to him in the bargain.

  Marten spoke with the cool lack of emotion he might’ve used haggling over a bag of beans. “So long as you include myself, Lieutenants Talmaddis and Lenarimanas, the arcanist Stevannes, the Arkennlander Devan na soliin, and Ambassador Halassian and her two lieutenants, Jenoviann and Kessaravil.”

  If Marten thought by including me in his little list I’d forgive him for this and play the helpful spy for him down streetside, he could fucking well think again.

  “Acceptable,” Ruslan said.

  “The vow’s terms must bind your apprentices as well,” Marten added sharply.

  “Of course.” Ruslan made a dismissive gesture.

  Mother of maidens, the sick terror on Kiran’s face…I still had dreams about the expression he’d had when I’d betrayed him in Kost. This was worse. I fought to move, to speak, to do something. I budged not an inch.

  Sechaveh clapped his hands once. “Done, then. Captain, while you work under Ruslan, you are free to remain in Ninavel and investigate as you please. Ruslan…” Sechaveh slipped off a braided silver ring bearing a fat ruby and held it up. “You know what I require.”

  Ruslan inclined his head, his expression ironic. He drew a wickedly curved dagger from his belt. Blood welled dark on the palm of his left hand as he cut a sigil into his skin.

  I had the same awful, nightmarish sense of inevitability I’d had in Simon’s cave, when I’d been forced to watch as Kiran got sliced open. The memory of my idiotic confidence of a few hours ago brought bile to my throat. Why, why, had I ever thought this trip a good idea?

  Sechaveh tossed the ring to Ruslan, who caught it with his blood
ied hand.

  “Make your vow,” Sechaveh said, his voice stern.

  Ruslan shut his eyes and clenched his hand around the ring. The blood that dripped through his fingers glowed unnaturally crimson, the drops sizzling and vanishing before they reached the floor. “I vow that neither I nor my apprentices will ever knowingly cast a spell with intent to harm Captain Martennan and his team members”—he rattled off the list of names Marten had given him—“or the country of Alathia.” He moved the knife in several quick passes through the air. A fiery sigil appeared before him and cast a sullen glow over the planes of his cheekbones.

  “This I vow, Ruslan Khaveirin of the tenth lineage of the akheli, bound by my blood and ikilhia.” Ruslan cast the ring into the flames in the warded ring at Sechaveh’s feet. The fire leapt high, colors merging and shifting to a deep, vicious red.

  Kiran and the Alathians all flinched like miners caught too close to a powder blast. Even Ruslan twitched as the sigil flared and vanished. Sechaveh only watched, satisfaction plain in the curl of his mouth.

  The flames within the ring settled, the red bleeding back into cool blues and violets.

  “Does that satisfy you, Captain?” Ruslan’s rich voice was full of scornful amusement.

  Slowly, Marten nodded.

  “Then it’s your turn.” Ruslan looked past Marten at Kiran, his eyes hot and eager. Nausea choked me so strongly that black spots bloomed in my vision.

  Sweat stood out on Kiran’s skin, his breath coming in sharp pants. His eyes darted between Marten and the other Alathians, full of frantic pleading, as Marten moved to stand behind him. If Marten felt even a shred of guilt over betraying Kiran so thoroughly, I saw no hint of it.

  No, no, no, oh you lying, demon-tongued bastard, may Shaikar eat your black heart—

  “Stevan,” Marten said quietly. He lifted the amulet out from under Kiran’s shirt and over his head. Ruslan gave the amulet one swift, penetrating glance. Stevan let out a breath, all the lines in his face relaxing.

  Kiran tore his arm free of Stevan’s grip and threw himself sideways, only to stop short again with an awful, choked cry. He swayed on his feet as if he might faint, his face gray.