Black Sun Light My Way

by Spurrier, Jo

  Delphine paid the cubicles and cages no mind. Her eye fell at once on a table on which books and papers were strewn in a haphazard pile. She took one at random and leafed through it, frowning at the neat, crabbed script. ‘Aleksar, come and tell me what this says,’ she demanded. Isidro was teaching her and her students to speak and read his tongue, but her grasp of the language had far to go yet.

  The guard ignored the books and papers and circled the room, his gaze sweeping over tables piled with dishes.

  At the far corner of the chamber, another set of doors led further into the rock. ‘What’d the barbarians build this place for, if only to leave it for any pack of dogs to take over?’

  ‘It was probably a staging-ground for the old ones’ work in the valley, sir,’ Isidro said. ‘A place to bring wounded and store equipment rather than haul it from the temple each day. But it’s clearly mage-built, and then there’s the enchantment that hides the entrance … once mage-craft was outlawed they couldn’t continue to use it.’

  ‘What’s through there, then?’ the guard asked, pointing with his spear to the doorway at the far end of the hall. ‘Common sense says you put sleeping quarters farthest from the entrance.’

  He had a point. Perhaps these mages had cared more about protecting their work-space than defending their living quarters. ‘We ought to have a look,’ he said. ‘Madame?’

  With a sigh, Delphine put the book down. ‘Very well.’

  Isidro reached for the door, but before he could take hold of the latch, he felt Rasten stir in his head again. What? he demanded of that silent presence. What is it? It was a risk with Delphine so close, but he couldn’t bear the constant irritation any longer.

  At the other end of the connection, Rasten gave a wordless growl of frustration, and pulled away.

  In this moment of distraction, the guard had grown impatient: he wrenched the door open and stepped through.

  Isidro went to go after him, but his feet wouldn’t budge. He felt rooted to the floor. Something was wrong, something he’d overlooked, something right in front of his face … He stood stock-still as Delphine went past him on the guard’s heels, giving him an odd, worried look as she did.

  Alright, Isidro told himself. Just be still a moment, and think. He tried to draw a deep breath to calm himself, but all it did was draw the stink of blood-craft into his lungs once more.

  His eye fell on the table and the dishes still scattered across it. It was slovenly, but why bother clearing them away when they expected to return with prisoners to do the scut-work? Then he looked at the tables again, and narrowed his eyes. He turned to survey the cubicles, and counted those that were screened with blankets and spread with furs over the narrow pallets. Fires Below, he thought. Is that what you were going to tell me? There were six of them, but only four dead. The others escaped.

  For a moment, Rasten seemed to stammer, speechless, but then he drew himself up and, with as much arrogance and vitriol as he could muster, he snarled, Not as clever as they think you are, are you?

  With a sharp breath Isidro turned on his heel and went after his mistress, cursing himself for a fool. Had he lost all his wits? If the Blood-Mages could hide their tracks on the way out, they could hide them on returning as well.

  The moment he stepped through the doors, his voice died in his throat. At the centre of the room lay another table, this one fitted with ropes ready to hold a victim outstretched. To one side was a framework of rough wood, very similar to the one that still haunted his nightmares. He paid little attention to the rest of the equipment in the room — his mind simply skimmed over it, refusing to focus on what it saw.

  This chamber was much like the last, with the long walls lined with stone cubicles, these ones all empty. One end of the hall had been closed off with a wall of wooden planks. There was a door at the far end of the wall, turning the space beyond into a kind of storage-locker, but the bolt hung loose and unshot, though the door was firmly closed.

  Delphine rattled and shoved at the handle, but it would not budge. ‘It won’t open,’ she said, and beckoned to the guard. ‘Come here and help me.’

  She and the guard had both stooped down to peer at the bolt when Isidro finally found his voice. ‘Madame,’ he called across the chamber, and Delphine straightened just as a great thrum of energy reverberated from the other side of the wooden wall.

  She felt it, too. She recoiled as the whole wall shook as though struck by a hammer. A great blare of noise filled the chamber, like the crackle of a fire intensifying to an ungodly roar, and red-orange light streamed through the cracks between the planks.

  A patch of wood near the door smoked briefly and then burst into flame.

  Isidro started across the chamber, but he felt as though he were trying to move through treacle. All he could do was watch as the guard frowned at the burning wood, then leant closer. The charred wood crumbled to ash, and a red-orange beam burst through the hole and struck the Akharian full in the face.

  The guard didn’t have time to scream. He crumpled under the force of the beam and collapsed, his spear falling to the floor with a clatter. The air was suddenly made of scorched skin and hair: a stench that struck right through Isidro, setting his heart thundering in his chest and sweat breaking out across his shoulders.

  As the guard collapsed, Delphine stood frozen to the spot in shock. But when the beam began to swing her way, cutting a smoking trail through the wood, she dropped to the ground and ducked under its deadly glow.

  As she scrambled to safety, the beam winked out, and the noise stopped, but from the other side of the wall came a grinding sound, as though something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Delphine straightened and ran to Isidro, meeting him in the middle of the room. She caught his sleeve, and pulled him towards the door. ‘Quickly!’

  Then he felt another thrum of power ripple through the chamber, and dug his heels into the floor. He broke Delphine’s grip on his sleeve, caught her around the waist and pulled her back just as the dull roar came again. The red-orange beam cut through the wood right where she had stood. The operator realised at once that the beam had missed its mark: it began to swing towards them, and Isidro and Delphine both bolted for the stone-walled cubicles across the chamber.

  ‘Some of them escaped, madame,’ Isidro said, breathless. ‘They made it back here — we must have been right behind them —’

  ‘Well, obviously,’ Delphine snapped as they hunkered down low. Her face was still sallow, her hands shaking, and she talked so quickly her tongue tripped over the words. ‘I think it’s one of the ancient weapons, the ones from Vasant’s time. Barranecour’s book described a beam that could cut through anything — steel, wood, even stone if given enough time. Is … is the poor fellow dead?’

  Isidro glanced out to the guard, lying face down on the stone. The flames that had licked across his hair had died out, and he lay perfectly still. ‘Yes. Listen, they’ll try to take us prisoner, or kill us rather than let us escape. They’re doomed and they know it, but if they can take us for sacrifices they’ll make the Slavers pay a high price for killing them. They expect us to run, so our best chance is to attack.’

  Delphine’s eyes widened, but she nodded. ‘How?’

  On the other side of the wall, Isidro felt the flow of power falter. Crouching low, he peered around the pillar to see the beam flicker, its steady red-orange glow now pulsing with black, while beyond the wall a man coughed and dark, acrid smoke poured out through the gash in the wood, smelling of something more than just burning timber.

  The flickering beam seemed about to go out, but after a moment it steadied. A shower of sparks gleamed through the pall of smoke, and the weapon’s drone had grown to a rough and coughing roar.

  ‘We have to break down the wall!’ he shouted. ‘If I can get in and take him down maybe you can shut it off.’

  Delphine nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ He started to turn away, but she caught his arm. ‘Aleksar, be careful! If you get yourself hurt,
I … I’ll be furious, you hear?’

  He pulled away and rolled out into the open. The power filling the air convulsed with an awful tearing sound. The swollen, glowing beam was growing ragged, and beyond the wall a man’s voice cried out in alarm.

  Isidro ducked under the beam, scrambling across the ash-strewn floor and snatching up the guard’s fallen spear. It was a sturdy weapon, built for thrusting on horseback, far too long to use one handed. The man beyond the wall must have caught some flash of movement, because at once the beam swung to follow him. Isidro reversed his grip on the spear haft and swung it through the beam, shearing the handle off two feet below the head and sending the rest hurtling across the chamber with a clatter.

  He felt Delphine’s power flex as she grasped the wall-frame, and with a wrench tore it down, splintering the heavy beams like dry twigs. As the wall fell, the noise in the chamber seemed to double, and black smoke poured out in a choking wave.

  As it cleared Isidro made out the device — it was something like a ballista, with the swollen red-orange beam from the nose fed by two strands of jagged, writhing power that erupted from the arms. The whole thing was wrapped in wire and stones, but the wire dripped to the floor in molten gobbets, and some of the stones were broken and crumbling to dust. More of them failed before his eyes, crazed by the pressure within and flickering with opalescent colours as the power threatened to tear them apart. Flames licked across every surface, reaching towards the operator, who was leaning over the construction and trying to pry stones from their sockets. His shirt was splattered with blood and pocked with holes from flaming cinders.

  As one of the jets faltered, the beam winked out and Isidro seized his chance. He leapt over the smouldering remains of the wall, dodged around the sputtering arm and drove the point of his truncated spear towards the Blood-Mage’s face. He was a big man, Isidro belatedly realised, near his match in height and a handful of years his elder.

  The mage scrambled back from the spear-point, but he regained his balance quickly and looked his opponent up and down with narrowed eyes, taking in the empty sleeve of Isidro’s coat. He turned his retreat into a rush.

  Isidro crouched low, for there was no room to dodge. He cursed himself for a fool — even after all these months and the pain of his ruined arm, he responded as though he was a warrior still, not the crippled wreck Rasten had made of him.

  Power throbbed at his back. Delphine shrieked a warning, and Isidro felt the stones burst one after another, tipping the ones around them over into failure in a tearing wrench of power.

  As the Blood-Mage reached him Isidro dropped to his knees, slammed his shoulder into the fellow’s belly and flipped him over his back, twisting to slam him into the weapon. His body hit the ballista’s shaft as the last of the stones exploded, and the device tore itself apart before his eyes, contorting as though in agony and shedding glowing metal and stone in a hail of burning fragments. With one last spasm of power, it exploded like a tree in the winter torn apart by the swelling of frozen sap.

  Isidro threw up his good arm to shield his eyes, and with the movement power convulsed within him. The world slowed down as the energy flowed through his arm like ice water, spilling from his palm as the glowing shards of wood, metal and stone whistled towards him. The power coalesced into a shield, a disc of mottled colours that swelled to cover him so that the burning fragments bounced harmlessly away.

  The shield sputtered out only a few seconds later. The Blood-Mage was dead at his feet, hurled there by the blast with a huge splinter of wood embedded in his back.

  Isidro was too stunned to react — all he could do was stare at his hand in shock. Then Delphine was there, her small hands wound into the collar of his coat as she pulled him around to face her. ‘Are you alright? Aleksar, are you hurt?’

  ‘I …’ He couldn’t answer any further — his tongue and lips seemed to have forgotten how to speak. He could still feel it within him, coursing through his veins like liquid fire, as brilliant and pure as lightning.

  He shook himself. ‘There’s one more,’ he said. ‘Four bodies outside, one here, but six beds in the outer chamber —’

  ‘Aleksar, she’s in the corner. She’s dead.’

  He followed her gaze and for the first time registered the body in the corner, a priestess by the tattoo on her face. She was slumped against the wall with one leg twisted at an obscene angle and a trickle of bright blood flowing from her mouth. Her eyes were open, and she lay perfectly still.

  The two of them were the only living things in this place, but the jangling of his nerves would not cease. The tainted power pressed all around him, filling his lungs like poisoned smoke, and the air was full of the scent of burning, of hot metal and scorched flesh. The lights had all failed, and the only illumination was the burning remains of the weapon. Its flickering glow made the racks and frames cast black-barred shadows across the walls.

  Delphine seemed to read the panic and confusion in his eyes, for at once she pulled his good arm across her shoulders and turned him towards the door. ‘Come out here where the air’s a bit clearer.’ She herded him through the hall with the bedchambers, then the mudroom and into the connecting corridor where it was dark and dim, and gently pushed him to the floor. ‘Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths. Do you remember what I told you about emptying your mind and stilling your thoughts? Try to do it now.’

  The miasma of tainted power was lesser here, and once she reminded him that he could push it away, Isidro began the ritual of calming his thoughts.

  It took some time, but when at last he was able to focus again, he found Delphine crouched on her heels, watching him. ‘We’ll tell no one about this. No one, you understand? It never happened. If the others find out about it, you’ll be put to death. Aleksar, you must promise me you’ll never speak of this to anyone.’

  He looked down at his hand. The skin still felt scorched, but there was no mark. ‘I … I don’t know how … I don’t understand what happened …’

  ‘Hush,’ she said, and took his good hand in both of hers. ‘It’s rare for a latent talent to spontaneously break through, but it’s been known to happen. Why do you think we have laws against keeping slaves with any level of power? Now, will you be alright here on your own for a moment? Only I’d best go put that fire out, and see if there’s anything to salvage …’

  He nodded, and buried his face in the crook of his arm, drawing deep breaths as he heard her soft footsteps patter away.

  For a moment everything was still, but then he felt power stirring within his head. So, Rasten said. Some of those old weapons did survive Leandra’s purge …

  After all the shocks he’d had in the last hour — Blood-Mages, Sierra and power spilling from his own hands, understanding what they’d found required resources he’d already spent.

  If the Akharians managed to build weapons like that, the horrors his people had experienced so far would be nothing to what would come. Isidro drew a deep, shuddering breath at the thought. It’s nothing but ashes and rubble now. Your master will never get his hands on it.

  Oh, Kell has no use for the wretched things; they’re only for mages too weak to do the working themselves. What you did is another matter. It’s just as well for you that you’re out of his reach.

  Isidro scrubbed his hand across his face. Right now, Kell seemed the least of his problems. He’d used power. He’d felt it flowing like liquid fire to his fingertips … How is Sirri? Is she awake? What in the hells happened out there?

  She’s still unconscious. They had smaller versions of that weapon, but they were unstable and the touch of her power tripped them. She tried to absorb the blast, but she’s not built for that. I knew the Slavers would be on the scene with their mages, so I drained her. When she blacked out I couldn’t tell if I’d taken her too far, or if one of the magelings had survived enough to be a threat to her.

  Did they kill the other slaves?

  No, Sierra did that. She tried to shield
them and hold her power in, but it just doesn’t work like that.

  By the Black Sun herself, Isidro thought. He tried to keep it to himself, but the thought overflowed to Rasten despite his efforts. When she learnt of it, Sierra would hate herself for what she’d done.

  They knew what she is, Rasten said. It’s better they’re dead. But if they worked it out, others will, too. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hide. You’d best find a way into Demon’s Spire quickly, before they try to force her hand.

  Isidro tipped his head back against the wall, pressing his back against the cool stone. There was so much to be done, and this discovery complicated everything to a degree he couldn’t yet understand. His thoughts were scattered to the four winds, but taking the time to assemble them was a luxury he could not afford. When Sirri wakes —

  I’ll be there to keep her power in check, Rasten said. Let me worry about her. Just find Vasant’s cache, and do it quickly.

  With that he pulled back, though one tiny thread of awareness remained. Rasten was keeping him on a leash, and there was nothing Isidro could do about it.

  With a groan, he hauled himself up. The fight had left him drained and weary, and he shuffled like an old man as he returned to the chamber.

  Inside, he found Delphine leafing through a sheaf of papers, her brow furrowed as she held her lantern-stone close to the page. The smoke was still thick and choking, and as he watched she reluctantly took a second to cough and rub at her eyes, barely lifting her gaze from the page. She noticed him, her gaze flickering to him for a bare instant. ‘Feeling better?’ she said absently.

  Something in her manner made him wary, and Isidro studied her as she turned the page, frowning steadily at the text. ‘Madame?’ he said. ‘What have you found?’

  When she didn’t reply, he started towards her. Delphine looked up, and fixed her gaze upon him from under lowered brows. She folded the sheaf in half and reached for the front of her jacket, preparing to tuck it out of sight, but then she paused, biting her lip.