Black Sun Light My Way

by Spurrier, Jo

  ‘Well then,’ Delphine said. ‘Perhaps there’s some other way we can settle this. I currently find myself without a servant.’

  ‘You want to purchase the wench? Well now, madame, the price for a young female is quite high — the earning potential, you see —’

  ‘My dear fellow, if I pay the going rate I’ll be coming to the camp with you to collect a receipt,’ Delphine said. ‘But truly I’d rather spare us both the trouble and trust you to make good the accounting. All this paperwork is such a bother, isn’t it? I understand you’ve lost a few slaves today, and with all the fuss I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an error in filing the shortfall. Of course it’ll be a nuisance to correct, but a few coins in your pocket would be fair compensation, don’t you think? Or, if you prefer, I’ll ask the commander to rule on the matter. If there has been a mistake, I do hope your supervisors won’t blame you for the misunderstanding and make you pay it out of your own pocket.’

  ‘How much?’ the slave-master said.

  ‘I believe I have a gold noble here somewhere,’ Delphine said, fumbling for her purse.

  ‘Two,’ the slave-master said.

  ‘Two!?’

  ‘Madame, this camp is full of men who’d pay that much and more to have her in their tent for the night. Two or nothing.’

  Delphine gave a hiss of disgust, but she didn’t argue further. Still bent double, Sierra saw her pull a purse from her sash and toss it to Isidro. ‘Aleksar, pay the man.’

  There was a clink of coin changing hands, and then the slave-master shoved her to the ground and strode out again in a swirl of cold.

  Sierra pushed herself up with a cough, and swept a hank of filthy hair back from her face. Isidro was watching Delphine with something like incredulity, but she studiously avoided his gaze.

  ‘Well,’ said the mage. ‘Good riddance to the wretched fellow. Are you hurt, girl? No? Good. You’ll be working for me now, but you’d best remember that I’ve sent one servant back to the camps for abusing my trust, and I’ll do it again without blinking an eye. Do you promise to do as I say?’ She turned to Isidro. ‘Can she understand me?’

  ‘I hear, madame,’ Sierra said in broken Akharian. ‘I hear better than speak.’

  Delphine winced. ‘Good enough. Her accent is barbaric, but we can work on that. Very well, girl, come with me. I’ll take you to our tent, and you can wash and change out of those filthy clothes. From the smell of them, I think they’d best be burned. Mira, you come along, too. You’ll be staying with me as long as we’ve work to do here. Aleksar, don’t stir from this tent. I’ll be back shortly.’

  Once the women left, Isidro sat heavily on the bench, laid his arm on the table and rested his forehead upon it. ‘By the Black Sun herself …’ he mumbled into his sleeve. Was this disaster, or triumph? Sierra was beyond the reach of the soldiers, true, but he couldn’t believe she could keep her power hidden for long, particularly with Delphine’s habit of noticing the smallest details of deception.

  Rasten was lurking at the back of his mind — he must have been watching them from the moment Sierra woke. How much of a problem is this? he asked.

  You tell me, Rasten said. How long will it take you to find a way into the Spire?

  Isidro glanced at the satchel he’d dumped at the end of the table. The hastily scrawled report Delphine had presented to the general was peeking out of the open flap. We may have it. Can’t be sure until the scouts get back.

  Throughout the afternoon, he and Mira had pieced together the history of the tiny cabal — according to the journals, there had been aspiring mages in Earthblood ever since Vasant’s fall. The first was a woman of minor talent who had been rejected by the mage-schools and entered the priesthood instead, thereby surviving the Great Purge. She had kept a careful record of her attempts to develop her talent in secret, aided by the few fragmented texts to escape Queen Leandra’s bonfires. Isidro suspected that she was also responsible for obtaining the weapon, though he couldn’t imagine how she’d got the thing into the bolthole.

  All the passages into Demon’s Spire had been sealed following the war, but after decades of study the priestess developed her power enough to cut a tunnel through the stone and into one of the lava-tubes that honeycombed Demon’s Spire following Vasant’s final battle. According to her journals, it had taken years — and then her records suddenly ended, with a wad of pages excised from the tome.

  The records were taken up again some twenty years later by that priestess’s successor, who recorded only that she had died nearly ten years after the cessation of her journal. This would-be mage lacked his teacher’s dedication, and had begun studying with her only a year or so before she died. In one of his infrequent entries he recorded that his teacher once told him that she had seen the heart of the Spire, and had walked inside the Demon’s Lair. She told him the place was haunted by the unhappy spirits of those who’d died in the last battle. She had sealed the passage closed once again and made him swear never to go there.

  The journals covered sixty or seventy years, until one of this long line of dabbling mages, frustrated by her lack of power, ventured onto the Blood Path. She had somehow acquired a portion of the same text Sierra had stolen from Kell — a sheaf of pages as thick as Isidro’s thumb, written in Mesentreian and crudely bound into a book. He had glimpsed it only briefly, because the moment Delphine realised what it was she shoved it into the stove. The records the woman left did survive, however: painstaking accounts of her experiments on Earthblood Temple servants and her cautious attempts to bring others to her ways.

  Perhaps fifteen years later, the leader of the cabal, one of the men Sierra had killed, had created the map as he tried to retrace that first nameless mage’s steps — but as well as scrawling the long-forgotten passage onto the temple floor-plan, somehow he’d got his hands on another map. When she saw it, Mira held her breath and calmly slid it under a pile of papers they’d already discarded as unhelpful. She understood its meaning before Isidro did. It was not a map of the sacred valley or the temple complex, but of Demon’s Spire, the easternmost mountain of those cradling Earthblood, with a dozen or so locations plotted across its outer slope. The paper and ink were not the same as those used in the pilfered temple supplies, and Isidro had wondered if the new priestess had brought it with her from her distant home.

  When Vasant prepared for his last stand on the slopes of Demon’s Spire, his followers created dozens of entrances to the stronghold under the mountain, allowing them to come and go under the noses of the besieging army. After the war, Leandra’s people filled them in, taking pains to hide the locations from future treasure-hunters. When they could be sure no one was listening, Mira had confessed that she’d heard rumours of such a map in her clan’s archives, brought out every few years to make sure the entrances remained undisturbed. The implications had made his heart pound — if there were other ways into Demon’s Spire, then War-Leader Dremman could send a relief force in to ambush the Slavers in the caves. After all these months, the end of his enslavement could finally be in sight.

  A party of Akharian scouts had already been detailed for the exploratory mission and would depart in the early morning. Though he’d known about it for hours now, Isidro could still scarcely believe it. He’d found a path — maybe many paths — into Demon’s Spire, though what lay at the end of it had so horrified the last person to see it that she destroyed her notes and made her protégé swear never to step inside.

  Does Sierra have a way of contacting Cam? he asked. She must have — it seemed madness to place eyes and ears in the heart of the enemy camp and not have some way to relay the information she could gather.

  Ah, said Rasten. That is a problem. She did have a device, paired with one Cammarian carries, but the stone was destroyed in the blast. I may have a way to get word to him, but I know he won’t trust anything from my hand. You need to find a way to convince him to listen to me. Can you do it?

  Convince Cam to trust Rasten? He’d so
oner trust a wolf to watch over a newborn calf. But even though his mind recoiled from the thought, Isidro could see he had little choice.

  There may be a way. Isidro’s father had trained him and Cam both for high station, and his lessons had included methods of constructing and deciphering codes. There was one cipher in particular they’d used as boys to slip filthy jokes to each other, and they’d dredged it up again while spying on bandit Raiders for the Wolf Clan. Among that barely literate rabble it had served them well, but an educated man could unravel it with enough time and effort. If Cam received a message so encrypted he would know it could be trusted, though after it passed through Rasten’s hands they could never use the code again. He could only hope that Rasten lacked the time now to tease apart the code and send a different message to Cam in its place. It was the best he could do, he thought sourly. He had to take the risk.

  I can do it, Isidro said. What’s the plan? It will take a little time to encode it.

  Don’t worry about that; just tell him to do as I say.

  The hells I will, Isidro snarled. Tell me what you need to pass on, and I’ll encode it and read it back to you. If you want to have any chance of seeing Sierra again, you’ll do it my way.

  Outside her tent, once her new charges were bedded down for the night, Delphine turned her face up to the night sky. ‘You’re a wretched, soft-hearted fool, you know that?’ she muttered to herself.

  With a shake of her head, she shuffled back through the drifting snow to the tent where she’d left Aleksar. It was late, and she was crushingly weary, but there were a few matters she had to attend to before she could turn to her furs.

  When she returned to the tent, she found Aleksar asleep, slumped over the table with his head pillowed in the crook of his good arm.

  For a long moment Delphine just watched him, while she studied the strange sensation of her heart seeming to swell in her chest. How would it feel, she wondered, to lie down beside him, and wake with his head next to hers?

  You’re a damned fool, she told herself. There were already rumours that she was too close to her slave. It was inevitable, really, given the jealousy aroused by their finds, first in Milksprings and now in the chambers beneath the temple. The sensible thing would be to ensure there could be no accusations of impropriety … but no one had ever accused Delphine of following the course of wisdom above all else.

  If any accusations stuck, she wasn’t sure what the consequences would be. Typically, a woman who slept with a slave was sold into slavery herself, but that was impossible when the accused was a mage. There must be some precedent somewhere, but if she sought it out, it would only add more fuel to the fire. Besides, she might be fool enough to let herself develop feelings for a barbarian slave, but she was not stupid enough to act on them. There would be time enough for that later.

  Delphine pressed a hand to the wadded papers tucked inside her shirt and sighed. Until she decided what to do with those notes, the question was moot. If she did deliver them to the general, Aleksar would never forgive her; he’d made that abundantly clear. And now that she’d had time to consider the matter, Delphine was beginning to think she’d never forgive herself. What would happen the next time the senators started talking of invading Tomoa to the south, or set their sights on the tribal lands to the west? What would happen the next time there was a riot in the city? What would it take to make the army turn the weapons against Akharian citizens? There was blood on her hands already for the part she’d played in urging the expedition to the north — how could she live with herself if she gave the means of so much destruction to those who thought nothing of conquering a whole kingdom and selling its people into slavery?

  With a shake of her head, Delphine started towards the sleeping slave, but when a spruce twig broke under her foot with a muffled crack, he woke with a sharp breath and pushed himself up, blinking blearily in the lamplight. ‘Oh,’ Delphine said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  He said nothing, but merely looked around the tent with his dark and knowing eyes. When he saw they were alone, his shoulders slumped again, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair, watching her from beneath lowered brows.

  ‘I know you’re weary,’ Delphine said, settling onto the bench to face him. ‘But there’s something we need to talk about before I can send you to your furs.’

  She sensed a certain stillness in him; he raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You used power, Aleksar. Or had you forgotten about it already?’

  He scowled and looked away and she saw his fist clench, the knuckles showing white as they had when he’d focussed on squeezing all his anger and pain into the table. ‘Madame,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to make of you today. I don’t understand this at all. First you promise to protect me, when every law of your people demands you turn me over. Then you insist you’re not a traitor, and say you’ll give your people a weapon of untold destruction. You tell me it’s better to turn my back on my brother and resign myself to never knowing what’s happened to him, and then not only do you turn around and let me ask a slave — a friend — about him, but you take her into your household! Madame, I thought I knew where I stood with you. I thought I could trust you!’

  Delphine stared at him, speechless. It took her a long moment to realise her mouth was gaping open like a halfwit’s. ‘Aleksar!’ she snapped, and he glared at her.

  She felt a flush creep over her cheeks, a sudden rush of heat. He was right, she was a traitor — concealing a slave with mage-talent was a serious crime. She just never quite looked at it that way.

  He kept watching her steadily, calm but defiant, and she found herself recalling the night she’d taken him into her service. The man facing her now was a world away from that wounded creature, willing himself to die and so weak that he wouldn’t have lasted another night. The Battle-Mages had tried their best to break him, and failed. But Delphine had managed it, in a way. She’d taken a man drowning in despair and had used kindness and compassion to break his will for death, and give him a reason to live. The camp was full of slaves who were cowed and beaten into obedience, but Delphine sharply reminded herself that he wasn’t one of them. He served her because he chose to, when it would have been easier to simply lie down and die.

  She held his gaze and reached into her shirt for the sheaf of notes. She dropped them in front of him, letting them sprawl carelessly on the table. ‘I never said I’d hand it over. But otherwise, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I suppose I am already a traitor.’

  He picked them up, gingerly, but only glanced down for a fleeting moment before meeting her gaze again. ‘What about the girl?’

  She huffed a sigh. ‘You saw how that stinking brute handled her. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen when I had the power to stop it. Maybe I can’t help every poor soul in the wretched camps, but at least I can spare one further suffering. No one will touch her while she’s in my care, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘And you let me ask her about my brother, against your better judgement. Why?’

  Delphine scowled at him. It was a kindness on the face of things, but there was scant chance he would ever see his kin again. The sooner he forgot about the life he’d left behind, the better off he’d be.

  But of course, she couldn’t tell him that, for the same reason she’d gone against her better judgement and let him speak to the lass. ‘I could see the pain it was causing you. I’m still not sure it was wise, but I couldn’t bear to see it, just as I couldn’t stand to watch the girl being hauled about like a bale of goods. It was a gift, Aleksar, don’t question it too closely.’

  He shook his head at that. ‘Don’t question it, madame? I can’t go against my nature. You may as well command a horse to fly.’ He held up the papers. ‘What of this?’

  ‘What would you do with it?’

  He made no answer, but his eyes flickered towards the stove.

  ‘Do it,’ Delphine said.

  He twitched, a pulse of muscle, a deep an
d visceral response to the command, but held himself still. ‘This morning I begged you to do it —’

  ‘I know. I was listening, Aleksar, but I needed to make up my own mind.’ She leant forward, clasping her hands together. ‘A moment ago, you said you thought you trusted me. Today has been difficult, for both of us, but here at the end I can look back and know I’ve made the right choice. If I’m going to err, I would rather it be on the side of compassion. Burn it, Aleksar. I mean it.’

  For a moment, he watched her, warily. Then he pushed himself up and went to the stove, then shoved the bundle of papers in and watched until the flames flared and caught.

  Delphine watched over his shoulder as the pages curled and charred. ‘Now come back, please, and sit.’

  His steps seemed lighter as he returned, his shoulders straighter, not so slumped and bowed as before.

  ‘Aleksar, what happened today … your life depends on keeping this a secret. The law is clear — a slave who uses power is put to death. Now, if you were Akharian-born and used power to protect your master, it might be possible to plead for clemency and have you freed and inducted into the Collegium, but a barbarian and a warrior like you? They’ll kill you if they learn of this, Aleksar. We must keep it hidden while you’re still a slave.’

  ‘But madame, how is this even possible? I’ve carried the taint all my life, but even the priests said it was not a strong one.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ Delphine said. ‘It could be a result of what the Blood-Mages did to you. In time, I’d like to explore the nature of the rituals that were performed on you, and see if we can discover what effect it had. You are unique, Aleksar, and you have the potential to help us advance our knowledge of Blood-Mages a great deal.’

  He turned away, as he always did when she mentioned the mages who’d crippled him, but after a moment his eyes drifted back to her. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘what do you mean, “still a slave”?’

  Delphine gave him a faint smile. ‘You are too good a man to spend your life in chains. Once we’re back in Akhara, I mean to secure your freedom. You must be patient, it will take time, but once you’re a Collegium freedman it will be safe to reveal your talent. Although I must warn you, you may never be able to do it again. It might only occur in moments of extreme emotion, such as when your life is in danger. Once you’re freed, we’ll find out, but in the meantime,’ Delphine reached into the sash she had taken to wearing, in the Ricalani manner, and pulled out a green stone on a leather thong.