Sen Eva’s face grew instantly grave. “No. No, of course you do not need to remind me. I only . . . I am sorry, Master, for any offense I have given. I only meant to assure you that the boy will not be missed.”
“Unlike other boys,” he said softly. “Or men.” The words seemed to cut Sen Eva deeply.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t. Don’t threaten me with that. If you harm him, if you go back on your promise, I will do nothing for you. I will tell them everything.”
“Will you?” He sounded more amused than alarmed. “Even Wilem? Will you tell your son the truth after all this time?”
Her face went gray. “It wasn’t my fault. He wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t my fault. And . . . and it’s not too late. You promised. You said I could have them back. You said — both of them.” She looked up at him desperately. “Show me. Just for a moment. Show me he’s still alive.”
The figure moved his hand again, and a smaller portal opened within the larger one. Sen Eva leaned forward, her face alight with a terrible blend of fear and hope and longing. Another man was visible in the smaller portal. This image was clear and bright, and even from across the room they could see that there was much about him that resembled Wilem. His father, Calen would have guessed, except — Wilem’s father was dead. Wasn’t he? Certainly the part about his death being planned by Meg’s father was a lie, but Calen had thought the death itself was true. But maybe none of it was true. He shook his head, wishing he could clear it. So many lies. His brain hurt from trying to sort them out.
The smaller portal winked out of existence. Sen Eva uttered a small cry of dismay and seemed on the verge of reaching out to try to draw it back before she caught herself. Calen was shocked to see tears streaming down the woman’s face. How could someone so evil be able to feel such sorrow? He glanced at Meg, but she seemed just as confused as he was.
“I won’t be so cruel as to show you Tymas. He doesn’t look nearly so well, I’m afraid. Years of death will do that to a person. The decay, you know. And . . . the worms.”
Sen Eva was sobbing now, her face a mask of grief and pain. “Please. Please, don’t . . .” She fell to her knees, her words thick and slurred with her crying. “Tymas! My poor sweet boy. . . .”
Now the figure’s voice became soft and soothing, all the cruelty that had been present only a moment before gone as if it had never existed. “Shhh. Remember my promise, Sen Eva. Magic is a powerful force. You have begun to see this for yourself, have you not? Once you fulfill your part of our bargain and I am free, there will be no limit to what I can do. Distances can be closed with a word. And even death can be undone, by one who knows its secrets.”
“Yes,” Sen Eva whispered through her tears. “Yes. Even death.”
“That’s right,” the figure continued, still speaking softly, as to a distressed child. “I am the only one who can give you back your husband and son, Sen Eva. But you must help to bring me back. This alliance between the kingdoms must be prevented. Queen Lysetta’s death was not enough, but now I can see that killing her was only the first necessary step. One death to start the war, another to ensure it doesn’t end.” His voice, still soft, grew thoughtful. He no longer seemed to be speaking to Sen Eva. “I have seen it. Peace will prevent my return. War and chaos will open the way. Death and destruction enough to pay the price. No united enemy to stand against me. Then I can reclaim my rightful place, and mages will no longer serve as slaves and lackeys to the lesser races of men. The Magistratum will be destroyed, and the order will serve me, and I will lead them all back to where we belong. . . .”
Calen struggled to maintain his concentration and hold the spell against this torrent of confusing and alarming information. It was . . . insane. He was insane, whomever he was. Who was he? And Sen Eva had to be insane, too, to be going along with this. Meg turned to stare at Calen, her face screwed up with unspoken questions. He shook his head at her helplessly, hoping she could see that he had no idea.
Sen Eva seemed to be regaining her composure. When she spoke again, her voice was tired but steady. “Everything is prepared, Master. Whatever forces you sense moving against us will be too late. By tomorrow night Princess Maerlie will be dead, and the war will begin anew. I have done all that you have required. Your army is even now progressing toward Trelian — the slaarh and the men trained to handle them — and once they are in place, I shall create the bridge for you to return as you have foreseen.”
The figure made no response. Sen Eva looked up at him, alarmed. “Master . . . ?”
For a moment there was only silence. Calen tried not to breathe. When the man next spoke, his voice was cold and black and horribly sure. “There is other magic at work in this room.”
Sen Eva’s head snapped around to look. Meg’s nails dug painfully into Calen’s wrist. Calen couldn’t worry about that, however. He couldn’t worry about anything other than maintaining the spell. Maybe this scary portal mage — for mage he must be — could sense the use of magic, but clearly he couldn’t actually see through the spell or he would have simply told Sen Eva they were there. If Calen let his terror weaken his concentration, they would be lost. Meg waited, eyes wide with her own terror but also amazingly still and under control. Once again he tried to imagine some of her strength and surety flowing through her fingers into his flesh. And then for no reason he could understand, he suddenly thought of one of the spirit cards he had read in Serek’s study — the chain, the metal links that were so much stronger when forged together. That’s us, he thought fiercely. Together we are stronger than either of them. We are stronger than them both. The sphere around them felt like a wall of solid rock, impenetrable and without weakness. Calen looked up and met Meg’s eyes. He jerked his chin toward the door.
She started to nod, then froze. Then she mouthed something silently at him. When he shook his head in confusion, she rolled her eyes and repeated it, more slowly. This time he got it. The book, she was saying. We have to get the book.
He turned slowly back toward where Sen Eva was now standing, staring around the room. The portal mage was motionless. Listening, most likely, or . . . sensing, or doing whatever it was that allowed him to tell there was magic at work nearby.
The book was still inside the secret drawer of the jewelry box. The drawer was resting on the bed, easily accessible. Except that Sen Eva was standing only inches away from it. She might not be able to sense his spell, but there was nothing wrong with her other senses, and he couldn’t imagine they could get that close to her without her realizing it.
He looked back at Meg. She was glaring at him impatiently. She was crazy. But she was also right. If anything was going to give them the evidence they needed, it was that book. And somehow he knew this would be their one and only chance to grab it.
Reluctantly, he nodded and squeezed her hand. She was still holding the vase in her other hand. Together, they took a single step toward the bed. Then another. Sen Eva had closed her eyes, the better to help her listen, Calen supposed. They continued to inch closer and closer to where the drawer sat waiting, the small book nestled safely within. Finally they were there. Sen Eva was standing right beside them.
Slowly, trying not to breathe, Calen reached out toward the book. Sen Eva moved slightly and he froze, his free arm stretched awkwardly before him. After a second he swallowed and began to move again. His hand was shaking. He prayed silently to the Harvester and the Lady and any other gods that might be listening, and let his fingers touch the cover of the book. He half expected the book itself to cry out some alarm, but nothing happened. Sen Eva remained still, listening. He didn’t know if he could actually lift the book from the drawer without her hearing it. But there was no help for it. He willed his fingers to steadiness and grasped the edge of the book firmly. With a final silent prayer, he lifted.
“Behind you!” the portal mage bellowed suddenly.
Sen Eva’s eyes flew open. Calen snatched the book to his chest and launched himself and Meg tow
ard the door as Sen Eva darted forward. They were going to have to stop running to open the door, and he thought that would probably be the end of them. Even if she still couldn’t see them, she’d know where they were when the door began to open. Calen glanced back; her hands were already moving before her, that familiar red fire growing and glowing between them, strange guttural words sounding deep in her throat. Beside him, Meg suddenly twisted and threw the vase. It struck Sen Eva in the side of her head and she fell to one side, screaming, her spell dying unfinished as she broke off the incantation. The portal mage was shouting something, but Calen couldn’t make out the words and didn’t really care to try. Meg twisted back around, grabbed the latch, and pulled. Together they threw themselves through the opening. Calen’s shoulder bashed into the doorframe, and he dimly felt the pain blossoming there but couldn’t spare it much of his attention. They heard Sen Eva behind them, still screaming, her words mingling with the continued shouts of the other mage. Hand in hand, the sphere of invisibility still held tightly around them, Meg and Calen flew down the long hallway and around the corner and down the stairs. Sen Eva followed, but they could hear her falling slowly but surely farther behind. They ran with the speed of their fear and the power of their friendship and the exultation of what they had accomplished. Calen’s heart pounded in his chest, and he felt Meg’s own heartbeat pulsing in time through their tightly clasped hands.
FOR A LONG TIME THEY WERE too terrified to do anything other than crouch huddled together in the darkness. They hadn’t given much thought to where they had run — at least, Meg hadn’t — and she wasn’t entirely sure where they had finally stopped, some dusty nook in a seldom-used corridor, somewhere on one of the lower levels of the castle. They had run as long as they could, then collapsed against the wall and waited for Sen Eva to find them. And now that it was finally beginning to seem that perhaps they had lost her after all, Meg tried to force her mind back to rational thought. And action.
“Calen?” she whispered.
He cringed slightly at the sound of her voice, and then she cringed in response to his sudden movement. They waited. When Sen Eva didn’t emerge screaming from the shadows, he said softly, “Yeah.”
“What . . .” She didn’t even know what she wanted to ask. What was going on? What had just happened? What was true and what was a lie and what were they supposed to do next? Then she seized upon the most immediately answerable question. “What is the book? Will it help us?”
Calen looked down as if surprised to find it still in his hand. Gently he pulled the fingers of his other hand away from her grip; she suspected he had let the spell go long before. She leaned in toward him as he opened the cover.
“I think it’s a journal.”
“Hers?” That seemed too good to be true. Surely she wouldn’t have recorded all her crimes in a book for them to find. Oh, if only.
“No. Someone else’s. A mage.” He squinted. “Mage Devorlin.”
Meg blinked in surprise. “But — that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Do you know who that is?”
She nodded. “He was King Holister’s mage, during the trouble with Lysetta’s disappearance. Holister had him put to death after the failed assault on Trelian.”
Calen shook his head and muttered something about bloody history and violence. Meg went on. “Why would Sen Eva have his journal? Surely it should have gone to his apprentice, or . . . well, someone else.”
Calen had begun flipping through the pages. “I think this is how she learned. Without being initiated into the order. He kept very detailed notes. And I think this is only the last of several volumes.” He pointed at a notation scratched inside the front cover. “But to learn and practice without any real guidance or supervision . . . It’s madness. So dangerous.”
“Well, it sounded like she did have supervision. That man in the — the hole in the air. . . .”
“Portal.”
“In the portal. Maybe he taught her, somehow.”
“Could he be Mage Devorlin?”
“No. He’s dead, remember?”
He gave her an impatient look. “Not everyone who is supposed to be dead is actually dead, it seems. We’re not, for instance. Neither is Wilem’s father, apparently.”
He had a point there. “I don’t know. I suppose anything is possible at this point.” She shook her head in frustration. “But if that’s all it is, Mage Devorlin’s journal, I don’t think it’s going to be enough. Even if we could prove she had it in her possession, which we probably can’t now that we’ve taken it away, just having it doesn’t prove she’s actually been doing magic herself.”
“Meg,” Calen began.
“No!” She punched her fist into her thigh. The pain only made her angrier. “It’s not fair. This was our only chance. We took a terrible risk, and we almost got caught — oh, Calen, I almost got you killed again — and after all of that we still only have our own word against hers!”
“Meg!”
“What?” She was shouting, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care. What did it matter now?
“Look.” He was holding up the book.
“What?” she said again. She looked closer. The page was covered in what she assumed was Mage Devorlin’s small, cramped, precise lettering, complete with little diagrams and charts and arrows she guessed illustrated whatever magical point he was trying to make. But along the margins, underneath sketches and squeezed into the spaces between paragraphs, there was more writing. Writing that seemed far more recent, judging by the quality and freshness of the ink. Writing in long, flowing script that seemed instantly and naggingly familiar.
She looked up to meet Calen’s gaze. His eyes were alight with hope and a strange, harsh humor. She imagined her own face mirrored his expression.
“She added her own notes,” Meg whispered. “That’s her handwriting. I’ve seen it. She’s written countless documents since she’s been here; there must be tons of them we could use to compare. . . .” She was almost too excited to go on, breathless with the sudden resurrection of their plans. She took the book from Calen’s hands and turned to various pages at random. There were notes detailing failed attempts at reconstructing specific spells. Notes on variations of reagents and incantations. Notes on all manner of things that could leave little doubt that Sen Eva was fully engaged in the secret and illegal practice of magic. “Oh, Calen,” Meg said. “We do have her. This has to be enough.”
“We have to get it to Mage Serek.”
All the fear and desperation that had drained away minutes before came rushing back, now that there was something to lose again. “How can we? Surely she’ll be watching for us now.”
“Maybe I can try contacting Mage Serek again. I mean, with my mind. But, um, not quite yet.” He looked at her apologetically. “I’m not used to doing so much magic at once. It takes a certain kind of inner strength and energy, and I can’t . . . I need to rest. Just a while longer.”
“Of course,” she said. “Take as much time as you need, Calen.” But inside she was burning with impatience, and he probably knew it. Every moment they waited was another moment for Sen Eva to find them, or find some way to stop them, or at least find some way to escape. And they had to catch her. Catch her and stop her once and for all. Or else they’d never be able to rest, always knowing she was out there somewhere, waiting to come back. . . .
That made her think of Sen Eva’s incomprehensible conversation with the mage in the portal. He had spoken of coming back. Of Sen Eva bringing him back, somehow, whatever that meant. He had spoken of a lot of things that didn’t seem to make any sense. Like Wilem’s father. And brother. It had sounded as if he had promised Sen Eva that he’d bring her dead son back to life if she helped him by doing whatever it was she was supposed to do. That couldn’t really be possible, could it? Dead was dead. And Wilem . . . something about Sen Eva’s fear of Wilem learning the truth. But he was in on her plans to kill Maerlie — they knew that. Meg couldn’t even pr
etend there was a chance he was somehow innocent in all this. But clearly there was something Sen Eva was keeping from him. She tried to think back on everything the strange mage and Sen Eva had said to each other. It wasn’t my fault, Sen Eva had said. He wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t my fault. Was she somehow responsible for whatever had really happened to Wilem’s father and brother? That would explain why she would make up that lie about Meg’s father having them killed.
There was a sound in the stairwell above them. Meg felt her heart freeze in her chest. It was probably just some errand boy. But they couldn’t know for sure. They had to get to Mage Serek. Now.
Silently, she took Calen’s hand and pulled him farther down the dim hallway. They found another dark pocket of shadows and crouched there, waiting and listening. The sound, whatever it had been, did not come again. Meg put her mouth close to Calen’s ear. “How’s that resting coming along?” she whispered. “I don’t mean to rush you. But, you know . . . evil unmarked mage trying to find us and kill us and everything.”
Calen looked at her, his expression a painful mix of amusement and affection and regret. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’m just not strong enough. We’ve got to think of another way.”
There was no other way. If he wasn’t strong enough to cast, they certainly couldn’t go wandering the hallways. They’d be visible and unprotected. She squeezed his hand tightly. “Could I . . . help you somehow? Like the way we worked together to summon Jakl? Could you use my strength to call Mage Serek?”
She could see him thinking about it. That had to mean it wasn’t impossible. Otherwise he would have refused immediately. “Please, Calen,” she said. “Let’s try.”
“But I’ve never —”
She smiled at him gently. “I know. You’ve never tried this before. It could be very dangerous. You don’t know what effect it could have on me. You’re worried about hurting me. I understand. But I want you to do it anyway. We’re out of options, Calen. And we need to do whatever it takes to stop her. You know we do.” She took a breath, then went on, no longer smiling. “I didn’t hesitate to put you in danger when I thought it was our only chance. I have far fewer reservations about risking myself. And we cannot wait any longer.”
The Dragon of Trelian Page 23