by Spurrier, Jo
When Isidro returned to Nirveli’s chamber her image had disappeared from the polished stone, and in its place there was a kind of mural growing across the wall, a swelling tracery of vines and flowers spreading over the stone.
‘Nirveli?’
She appeared in one corner, sitting down and leaning her back against the side wall with one knee up, her elbow propped on it and the vines growing from her extended hand. ‘Vasi was sorry for what he’d done in the end,’ she said, gazing off into the tangle of vines. ‘But he couldn’t bring himself to undo it, not when it meant killing me all over again, and anyway there was no other way to fulfil the task he’d set me.’
Trying to understand all she was set his mind reeling — she was one of the ancestors, a relic of a lost and forgotten world, part of a culture that had been eradicated in the Great Purge. It filled him with an overwhelming awe that was simply too great to wrap his mind around. If she were a flesh-and-blood survivor of the war, he would treat her with the greatest respect and deference, but after their fleeting contact the day before, he couldn’t quite see her that way. Since that brief touch, and the welter of her thoughts and feelings it sent flooding through him, he’d felt a kinship with this woman drawn of memory and light. She, like him, had lost everything, had lived as a fugitive with a tiny band of trusted friends, fighting a force so great that all odds of victory were against them. He felt that he knew her, that he understood the decisions that had brought her here, the bitter bargains made only because the other options were so much worse. ‘How is this even possible?’ Isidro asked, settling down beside her.
She turned to him with a laugh. ‘I have no idea. Not the faintest. Vasant was a genius, you see. None of us understood half of what he could do.’ She halted the growth of the vines and turned her full attention on him. ‘I think you’d best tell me just what brought you here, and what you need from me.’
It took some time, but Isidro explained all that had happened, telling her how Kell had come to power and how he’d taken Rasten and Sierra as his servants.
‘So,’ Nirveli said when he was done, ‘you need to learn mage-craft.’
‘Well, not me,’ Isidro said. ‘Sierra. But that’s the reason Vasant built this place, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, of course, but there’s a problem. That girl is a Corrupted Sympath. I can’t teach her.’
Isidro pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. ‘You have to,’ he said. ‘She’s our only hope.’
‘I understand, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t. It’s forbidden.’
‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because she’s halfway to being a Blood-Mage.’
‘Oh, by the Black Sun!’ he snapped. He had been stiff and sore even before the morning’s fight, his head was still pounding and he could feel the familiar heaviness in his chest that meant the fever was rising again. He didn’t want to fight for the help they desperately needed — he wanted to enjoy being back with his friends and his kin, and take a moment to breathe after the fear and uncertainty of the last few months. All he wanted was a few moments of calm, but the truth of the matter was that their predicament was every bit as desperate as it had been the day before. It doesn’t matter what we do or how hard we fight, Isidro thought, nothing ever changes, and we’ll always be living on a knife-edge.
But they had no time to waste on self-pity. ‘She’s not a Blood-Mage,’ Isidro said. ‘She loathes what they do — she’d rather die than stoop to their tactics.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it,’ Nirveli said. ‘But she’s a Sympath. She’s been corrupted just by being exposed to them. It’s dreadfully unfair, I know, but it’s just the way it is.’
He was simply too tired to argue. ‘Whether that’s true or not is irrelevant. She’s all we have, and if she can’t master her powers, we’re doomed. Can’t you at least try?’
‘No,’ Nirveli said. ‘As I said it’s forbidden. Vasant didn’t place many constraints upon me, but that was one of them. In any case, she’s not your only hope. You have power — I can teach you.’
‘But if Sierra is Corrupted, then surely I am, too,’ Isidro said. ‘I couldn’t do anything more than sense enchantments before Kell got hold of me. And I don’t really have power — every time I’ve managed to use it I’ve taken it from somewhere else.’
‘You’re not Corrupted because you’re not a Sympath. They’re not like other mages: surely you must see that.’
He had to admit it was true. The Akharian mages certainly didn’t seem to follow the same rules that applied to Sierra. As he considered the matter another idea arose in his tired mind. Nirveli had refused to teach Sierra, but if she could teach him, what was to stop him from passing on the lesson?
He started to ask this very question, but then stopped himself, afraid that it would somehow trigger the restraints that bound her.
Nirveli was still watching him. ‘Of course you can try to teach her what you learn,’ she said. ‘I have no doubt you will.’
‘It does seem a bit of a loophole,’ he said cautiously.
‘Not really,’ Nirveli said. ‘You’ll understand soon enough. I’ll give you a reading list to begin with, and you’ll need a training ground, too … I take it the rest of your people are staying out in the cavern?’
‘Yes. All they’ve seen of mage-craft is what our enemies have done, so they’re wary.’
Nirveli sighed. ‘I knew that would happen. Well, there is a shielded space upstairs —’
‘Upstairs?’ Isidro said.
Nirveli jerked her thumb towards the wall at their backs, and at once there was a soft hum as a doorway opened in the stone, revealing a second staircase leading up into the mountain. ‘It has shielding built in to protect the rest of the installation,’ Nirveli said, ‘but a Corrupted Sympath … just tell her to be careful, alright? This place was built to last, but if she wakes the volcano or anything like that, we’ll be buried in rock before you know it. Tell me, has she started killing enchantments yet?’
He went still for a moment, thinking as carefully as his sluggish mind would allow before he spoke. ‘Is that likely to happen?’
‘Yes,’ Nirveli said. ‘She’s Corrupted. She won’t be able to help it. I’m sorry, Isidro, but it’s the truth.’
‘But what difference would it make? She’s still our only weapon and our sole chance of survival.’
She shook her head with a sigh. ‘Never mind. Here’s a list of books for you to begin with,’ she said, and with a flick of her hand she cleared a patch of vines and in its place a dozen or so lines of text appeared. Isidro recognised them as the titles of some of the books they’d found in Milksprings. ‘They’re all there in the library. When you have questions, you know where to find me. Oh, and Isidro? Good luck. You’re going to need it.’
Chapter 6
At first light, Duke Osebian Angessovar, heir to the throne, commanded Lord Rasten to attend upon him in his quarters.
Rasten had slept badly, and woke with his bloodstained shirt stuck to the fresh wounds on his back. With the latest battle in the west over, Kell’s attention had turned back to him, and he had delivered another reminder that Rasten was his to do with as he wished, no matter the distance that lay between them. Since Rasten allowed no servants in his private quarters, he answered the messenger himself, and after one wide-eyed glance at the stains the terrified lad bowed deeply as he stammered the duke’s command.
Rasten wouldn’t present himself with Kell’s amusements written so plainly on his skin. Last night he’d been too exhausted to see to them properly, but once the boy left he took his time cleaning and bandaging the cuts, using threads of power to reach the ones his fingers could not.
He’d hidden these punishments from Sierra and Balorica. Clearly he couldn’t let Balorica see his weakness, and as for Sierra … she wouldn’t understand why he had to obey Kell’s commands. She would tell him to put down the knife and break the contact. She couldn’t understand why the suggestion was ridiculou
s. Kell had never shown her how much a person could suffer for defying his will — she’d never witnessed the old man’s punishments without a cushion of power to soften the blows, and had never reached the point where she would do anything for a few moments of respite. She couldn’t understand that submitting was far better than the price of defiance.
When at last he made his way to the duke’s accommodation, years of practice let him move freely despite the sting and tug of the stitches.
Inside his richly appointed tent, Osebian played a game of cards with a lovely blonde woman wrapped in velvet and fur. As Rasten entered, the duke threw down his cards, his fair southern skin flushed with irritation, and without a word his mistress scooped up the table and moved it aside.
Rasten assessed her out of habit. Her complexion and the sheen of her hair showed good health, but that did not predict how long someone could last on the rack. Some surrendered swiftly, recognising that every breath fed their tormentors more power. Others fought to the last of their strength, never giving up hope they would find some way to survive.
‘Cortana, leave us,’ Osebian said, and the woman withdrew with a curtsey. ‘Are you in the habit of sizing up other men’s women, Lord Rasten?’
‘Professional curiosity,’ Rasten said. ‘You may tell her she’s of no further interest. A woman without power lacks enticement. You wished to see me, your grace?’ If Osebian had been anything less than the heir to the throne Rasten would have ignored the summons. He had no intention of being another man’s lapdog; having one master who expected him to beg and fawn was bad enough.
‘I have heard some disturbing reports, Lord Rasten,’ the duke began. ‘I’m told you met with Cammarian and his wretched foster-brother, and the cursed sorceress. You had all three of the king’s most wanted fugitives within reach, and yet rather than bring them to justice, you helped them barricade themselves inside a fortress that just happens to be furnished with the means to undo everything my family has spent a century putting in place. Explain yourself.’
Rasten smiled and settled in the mistress’s vacated chair. ‘Is that all?’
‘Don’t play games with me, sorcerer —’
‘Cammarian is irrelevant,’ Rasten said. ‘He has no value to anyone but the queen. True, he’s being sheltered by the Wolf Clan, but once you’re married you can flush him out at your leisure. I’d get no reward for turning him in, so why should I take the trouble?’
‘And Balorica? Your master is the one clamouring for his head. The man’s a cripple, he’s no threat to the kingdom any more, but your master would reward you for him, surely.’
‘Balorica is … something of an experiment. One that is not likely to trouble us for much longer.’ Not the way Sierra’s going, he added silently.
‘And just what do you mean by that?’
‘Sierra will kill him, your grace. She won’t intend to, but she’ll drain him dry, sooner rather than later.’
‘What honour would that bring us? It’d be better for the crown to have his head. And the question remains, my lord, why didn’t you seize the girl when you had the chance? Your men outnumbered Cammarian’s warriors. If you had, I wouldn’t have a thousand men tied up in these wretched negotiations when I should be defending our lands in the south! I don’t want those slaves freed — if the Akharians carry off the natives at least it saves us the trouble of dealing with them!’
‘Do you like fighting a war on two fronts, your grace?’ Rasten asked.
‘If you’d taken the girl you’d be halfway back to the king by now,’ Osebian said. ‘With three mages I doubt it would be much trouble.’
‘Your grace, Sierra is wild and untrained. It will take time to make her a useful tool. If I took her now she’d fight every step of the way, and I assure you, she has great capacity for resistance.’
Osebian dismissed his words with a flick of his hand. ‘A woman can always be brought to heel.’
‘Indeed, but some methods are swifter than others. Sierra’s powers are growing stronger by the day. Soon they will be beyond her control completely, and she’ll be unable to fight me. I intend to take her then.’
‘Lord Rasten, all these fine words equate to doing nothing while our enemies cement an alliance against our king. It is not good enough.’
‘On the contrary, your grace, it is the only way forward.’
Osebian leant towards him. ‘Lord Rasten, it has been suggested that you’re letting the girl’s powers grow so that the pair of you can overthrow your master. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t send word of this to Severian.’
Rasten let a lazy smile creep across his face. ‘You hope to follow the king to the throne, do you not, your grace?’
The duke watched him with a narrow gaze. ‘I’ve never desired anything but a long and healthy life for Severian. It’s true, he’s been unlucky in the matter of sons, but as we speak the queen is arranging a new marriage for him —’
‘And having some trouble finding a suitable candidate, I hear,’ Rasten said. ‘All the world knows that the king produces sterile seed. He has syphilis, your grace; it’s only a matter of time before his cock rots off entirely.’
‘A matter on which you’re an expert, I’m sure,’ Osebian sneered.
Rasten let the jibe pass without comment. ‘So think on this, your grace. When you ascend the throne, will you be content to have an old man lusting after your pages and warriors as the sorcerer at your call?’
‘If the choice is between an old lecher and a young one I see little difference. We all know what you like to do with your spear, Lord Rasten.’
‘A soldier wields his weapon as his captain commands,’ Rasten said. ‘Do not confuse Lord Kell’s tastes with mine.’
Osebian’s lip curled with disgust. It was interesting to see how men reacted to the thought of using their prick on another man, whether they recoiled at the idea or found it enticing. The last ten years would have been easier, Rasten supposed, had he been one of the latter instead of the former.
Osebian scratched at his bristling chin. ‘How is it that your master is unaware of these … aspirations?’
‘Do you take me for a fool, your grace? If my master suspected disloyalty, I wouldn’t be sitting here.’
‘And the girl, does she factor into your plans? How long will it take? For her power to run amok, I mean?’
‘Impossible to say, but the way she’s progressing she won’t outlast the spring. Afterwards … it could take several years to train her to full effectiveness, but then she will be a great asset to any sorcerer who serves the king.’
‘In that case, I will contain my impatience. But be warned, sorcerer, I expect results.’ He sighed and looked away. ‘I suppose given our so-called truce with the Wolf rebels, when things go wrong under that blasted mountain we have a chance of hearing about it.’
‘Your grace, when things go wrong for Sierra I expect that no one within sight of Demon’s Spire will miss the fact.’
Rhia pressed her ear to Isidro’s bare chest while he shivered in the tent’s chill air.
‘Like a bag full of whistles,’ she said as she straightened. Isidro reached for the blankets, but she stopped him from pulling them up to his neck. ‘Issey, no, you’re far too hot.’
‘Let me be, Rhia. I’m chilled to the bone.’
‘You are feverish.’
‘I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for a while.’
‘Miss Rhia, he’s right,’ Amaya said. ‘He gets sick like this all the time. Madame had him rest for a few days, and he soon got better.’
‘Well, it’s been a few days, hasn’t it?’ Rhia asked, prodding the scar on his neck. ‘This is a bad sign, Isidro. And I don’t like these scars. I’m glad scurvy is so rare among you northerners: if these wounds open up again they’ll likely kill you. Now, I want to see your arm. Can you take the splints off?’
The effort of propping himself up to loosen the straps left him so dizzy he laid back and closed his eyes while Rhia poked
the lumpy bones beneath the skin. ‘Is Sierra near?’ she asked.
‘She’s taking a lesson with Delphine,’ Isidro said. ‘Why?’
‘I want to see if the bones are healing. It may hurt — perhaps you should call her.’
‘Just try it, and we’ll see.’ He’d come a long way since Rhia last saw him. Once it would have taken all his willpower to lie still, but now he just wanted it over with so he could sleep.
Rhia ran her fingertips over his forearm, feeling the ridges and lumps of healing bone. It was unpleasant, but bearable, until she reached a point below his wrist that made him grunt with pain.
At once Sierra was there in his head. Issey?
It’s just Rhia, he told her.
Do you need me?
No, he said gritting his teeth against the throb. It’s alright. He’d rather put up with the discomfort than pull her away from her lesson.
Sierra broke the contact, but Isidro felt another small distraction in the back of his mind. He reached for it and caught a glimpse of a small and sparsely appointed tent with brilliant daylight streaming around the door. It lasted only an instant before that connection was severed, too. Rasten had also sensed the spike of pain.
Rhia sat back on her heels, looking troubled. ‘Issey, I don’t like this at all. It hasn’t healed, and you keep getting sick. It’s worrying.’
‘But it is healing,’ Isidro said. ‘The breaks near the elbow have knitted, and with the device I don’t even need the sling all the time. It’s miles better.’
‘But it’s still swollen,’ Rhia said.
‘Well, of course — Delphine got me there in the scuffle, so it’s stirred it up again. It is getting better.’
She shook her head. ‘I would agree, if it weren’t for the fevers. Have you ever seen a wound heal over only to become an abscess later? I think there is foulness lingering within the bones. Isidro, you’d be better off if we took the hand.’
He caught her gaze and held it. ‘No.’