Gentian could find no overtone, no significant emphasis. For all she could tell, the question was simply that of a nervous boy trying to make conversation. Yet she was sure there was more to this encounter.
"I think she doesn't want to deal with us," she told him, truthfully. "Didn't expect us, doesn't like the implications of our sudden arrival. Doesn't know what to do."
Movement behind the young prince caught her eye. Seylon Heresar was strolling toward them, his attitude relaxed, but his pace deceptively fast.
"She can hardly plan to stay shut in that building indefinitely," Rydan said, then either noticed her looking past him, or heard a footstep, and turned. A pause, then, stiffly: "Duke Heresar."
"Prince Rydan." Heresar's hair glinted in the false sunlight as he bowed before turning to Gentian. "Magister Calder. I wondered if you had seen my brother lately?"
"In the Library still, Lord Magister." She was not at all surprised when he nodded his thanks but did not depart. She had a distinct impression he'd come over primarily to interrupt this conversation.
"You were discussing our elusive Regent?" he asked, considering Rydan's set expression with a kind of critical amusement.
"Speculating on her behaviour." Gentian looked back down at the kitten, feeling irrationally pressed. Given Aspen's dramatic warnings, she'd been surprised at what a low profile Heresar had kept. After the attempt at shield-breaking, he'd divided his time between assisting Jurasel in his searches and conducting divinations with Lady Dhara and Princess Kestia. Perhaps he had to spend most of his energy keeping them from each other's throats.
"I'm beginning to wonder if Princess Aloren does not have the right of it," he said now, adopting much the same air of swords-down approachability as Rydan. "Here we are, scrabbling for a way out, but the only way the lid will come off this box is if the Lady Suldar chooses to lift it."
"No-one's made any practical suggestions on how to convince her."
"But you notice that talk of killing the good lady has been abandoned?" The glance he gave Rydan held a neatly measured serve of provocation. "Certainly none of us have been hammering on her door, demanding she talk to us. Facing her down isn't quite on the order of putting out the Sun, but it feels very close to that when you sit down and think through the practicalities. Perhaps this little get-together of Aristide's tonight will produce a few ideas."
Gentian, who was not overwhelmed by the prospect of another round of royal tension and demand, simply repeated "Perhaps," in her most colourless voice and wondered if she could avoid going.
Heresar's smile broadened to something positively predatory. "Still, the valley itself is not unpleasant, don't you think?" he said. "I'm sure we can find ways to keep ourselves entertained, until Suldar's impasse is broken."
The scene became, of a sudden, remarkably familiar. The gift, the friendly conversation, even the deliberate interruption. This was nothing to do with It, and all about the Varpatten bloodline. They were sizing her up.
It was difficult not to laugh: at the absurdity, out of relief. Gentian had long ago grown accustomed to people fixing on her as a prime candidate for producing an heir. Power bred to power, and even Aurak Bes hadn't been above throwing every available grandchild in her path. She felt immediately sorry for Rydan, who couldn't be relishing this task, let alone Heresar's interference.
And Heresar! Aristide's brother. No doubt half the motive for both of them was the prospect of stealing a useful Darien mage – Laeth Varpatten's only child – out from under the Diamond Couerveur's nose. This was...going to be complicated.
Gentian decided a monumental failure to catch any hint was the easiest way to avoid offence. Even the broadest pass would be beyond her. "It's certainly a prime chance to study Fae history," she said, smiling at them both with a mild and marvellous lack of comprehension. "Though I imagine I've more than enough to occupy myself, with an entire valley of gardens."
"You notice that it rains each night?" he asked. "Our Regent pays enough attention to maintain us."
"Or simply the valley," Rydan said, his manner both combative and thoughtful. "She had locked it so completely away. Even the water was under that shell. Does she eat? Does she breathe? Do – Magister?"
Gentian had looked sharply aside, her senses giving her a few moments early warning before it became clear to all of them that there was a strong tug of magic, pulling toward the lake.
"Oh, not again." But the young prince's words held an air of surprised relief, for while there were several sources to the growing casting, Gentian, Heresar and Rydan had all been spared.
"Something a little smaller this time," Heresar murmured, sounding more interested than dismayed. "Not another illusion-breaker, I'd wager."
Gentian strained to discern intent, closing her eyes to better focus, but again she found nothing. Power, going somewhere, doing something. As fathomless as the sea. So she felt instead for the response of Telsandar itself, and found the Place muted, with an overlay of quiet attention. No, it certainly wasn't the valley doing this.
"I swear, given the chance, I'll tear the throat out of the one responsible for this."
Gentian opened her eyes on two angry princes, but it was Lady Dhara who had spoken. She, like Jurasel and Chenar, was one of the sources of the casting's power. The last, Hapt-lo Dest, looked no better pleased, striding toward them in Aurak Bes' company. Aristide was on the library steps, and Princess Kestia still some distance away, her children gathered around her, when, in an echo of yesterday morning, a man hauled himself out of the lake.
He was Fae, and naked, and blue. His skin looked like indigo suede, slick with moisture, and he moved toward them with a grace that was truly boneless. A creature of magic and water, holding a sword.
Hapt-lo Dest quickly stepped forward to meet him, hefting his heavy, iron-bound staff and setting his feet to signal that he would defend his lord but planned no attack. Despite the casting's steady draw, the Atlaran seemed well able to do battle. As Heresar had said: something a little smaller this time – and not nearly so debilitating.
The water-Fae had stopped as Dest came forward, and now surveyed the Atlaran from head to toe. Magic-summoned or not, this was a distinct presence, an actual personality. At least, the blue man seemed pleased as he lifted a sword as watery as his flesh, but with an ice-rime edge to the blade. Perhaps this was no conjuring, but Suldar's prisoner. For all Gentian knew, this could be It made manifest.
With a weird internal quiver, Gentian turned her mind to trying to think of ways to stop the thing. The shrouded intent made the task infinitely more difficult. Usually, even if she hadn't heard the spell, Gentian could discern the broad outline of a casting, with its subtleties becoming clearer after study. This must be what it was like for word-mages: stumbling through a maze blind-folded. With your arms bound.
Which left logic and guess-work; trial and error. As Dest leaned away from a first, flickering pass, Gentian began a major word-magic shield. It was difficult indeed to block the flow of raw power, but the most direct way of neutralising an unknown casting was to starve it. She would try to cut it off from its victims.
Adroitly avoiding Dest's return blow, the Fae turned and looked at her. Marking her, she felt, and also Duke Heresar, busy in his own casting. Then, smiling with an unkind pleasure, the attacker made a lazy-seeming cut toward Dest's head, which the Atlaran barely blocked. The sound of ice-steel on wood rang out.
No wavering attention now, as they engaged in earnest. Dest was no shabby fighter, but he was plainly outmatched, struggling to counter the Fae's blows. Gasping from doubled effort of battle and unwilling casting, he spoke in High Atlar, urging the Aurak away. But Kubara Bes shook his head, and sent out a spell, a banishment that briefly blurred the outlines of both combatants, then dissolved to no effect except to draw the water-Fae's attention to the Atlaran ambassador.
Without the Fae even looking in Dest's direction, the ice-rime sword flicked out, and carved the guard's leg open from hip to k
nee. The Atlaran fell, but swung even as he went down, and finally succeeded in connecting with watery flesh. The heavy tip of the staff impacted – passed through – the Fae's waist, emerging in a shower of droplets.
Unfazed, the Fae stepped past Dest, eyes on the Aurak. Hastily, Gentian finished establishing her shield, and had the satisfaction of seeing its walls flare and fade as the flow of power was, if not completely severed, thoroughly choked. An imperfect block, but perhaps it would weaken the thing. And Duke Heresar, with excellent timing, loosed a more straightforward shield, a wall of force to keep the Fae in place. He nodded at her in satisfaction. Between them, they had it boxed.
Almost immediately her shield flared again, and Gentian had to channel power at full strength to maintain it as the Fae began drawing mightily on all four of its sources. The kitten, forgotten in her hands, mewled as she gripped it too tightly and, head swimming from effort, she put it down.
The Fae lifted its sword and Dest – along with Dhara, Jurasel and Chenar – shuddered with effort. Both shields went down, and Gentian staggered, ears ringing, as the ties of her casting bounded back on her.
"Very pretty," Heresar said, setting his teeth. "True-magic, great-magery, and the power of four to support it. Certainly no illusion-breaker."
The Fae had stopped to once again fix Gentian and Heresar with a most meaningful look, and was unhurriedly turning back to Aurak Bes when Rua ran into the fray. She channelled her own momentum into a blow aimed not at any mortal vulnerabilities, but at the indigo and ice sword.
"Nicely done!" Heresar said, as the weapon shattered into droplets. "But I doubt it will serve any purpose." He began another casting as Rua took the opportunity for several further strikes, filling the air with spray.
The sound of blade on staff came as quick confirmation of Heresar's assessment, followed by a nasty, almost axe-like blow which forced Rua a step back. It had simply grown itself another weapon, and used it now in blurring passes, slicing at the binding at Rua's wrists. She retreated toward her lord, not badly injured, but less certain.
"Enough of this," Jurasel snarled, and drew a sword he'd evidently found in his explorations. Heresar immediately broke off his spell and hurried forward to block his prince's path, adroitly turning the move into a word of muttered consultation, a discussion of tactics rather than delay. Aurak Bes, meanwhile, loosed another spell, one of straightforward force, blasting their assailant several feet away from Rua, and nearly into vapour before the Fae sent his four sources to their knees establishing a granite-solid shield. He moved forward, the shield sweeping over Rua so he could finish the assault without interference.
"Ah!"
Prince Rydan, standing neglected a few steps away, gave the exclamation a satisfaction worthy of the arrival of a rescuing army. Gentian glanced around to see Aristide had almost reached them, but it was Captain Djol Rydan had been looking for. The Easterner was striding unhurriedly down into valley's centre, a puffing Aspen jogging in his wake. Discarding the sheathe of his sword, Djol made a peremptory gesture to Rua, an order to take the limp and bleeding Dest and get out of the way. Then he lifted his blade in a swordsman's salute, held the Fae's eyes for a long, still moment, and became a different person.
Gentian stared. Gone was the stolid, taciturn guardsman, all business and due comportment. This man, completely focused, fiercely joyful, blazed in battle. He whirled through the Fae's defences, swayed away from the returning blow, and came back to a guarding stance unscathed. Then made the tiniest motion of encouragement with the tip of his sword.
The water Fae smiled as if he'd met an unlooked for treat, and launched a counter-strike.
A dozen kingdoms had given Gentian plenty of opportunity to watch people try to kill each other. Duelling was a way of life in the East and Atlarus both, but only in the grand competitions, where the best of the elite battled for acclaim, had she seen anything to match this. Djol was the better, face alight as he weaved around the Fae's longer reach, heedless of the tiny hits the other scored. A mist of water vapour filled the air from his own strikes, and he danced through rainbows, alive in the moment. His sword was singing.
Wholly caught up by this phenomenon, Gentian came close to leaping out of her skin when Aristide, silk-smooth and acidic, spoke from an inch behind her ear: "Perhaps we might contribute before the Captain is entirely dissected?"
Heresar looked back at his brother and grinned. "But you notice the Fae has grown shorter? I think, given time, this Easterner would come out the winner."
"He would," Rydan affirmed, heart-felt.
"But since Captain Djol can only bleed so much, shall we attempt re-establishing the shield Magister Calder used? One over each mage fuelling the casting. Sekestry's Block, was it not?"
"A useful idea," Aurak Bes said, moving slowly up with Dest supported on one shoulder and Rua limping behind. "I will cover this one," he added, lowering Dest to the ground.
"I'll take Lady Dhara," Gentian said, approving the straightforward logic of the strategy.
"My Prince?" Heresar asked, and Jurasel nodded irritably.
"Leaving Your Highness to me," Aristide said to Prince Chenar, who merely shrugged, watching the fight with a critical air. "As close together as possible," Aristide continued. "If you would release on my mark?"
Gentian began again, taking it slowly this time because her head was still ringing. Djol showed no sign of faltering, nor concern for anything beyond the next stroke, but he would inevitably tire and weaken. They would need to do this soon.
Aurak Bes and Heresar were a beat behind her, but Aristide wordlessly cast a different spell, one that he left waiting to be triggered. The speed of true-magic casting left Gentian only with an impression of something transformative. She didn't waste concentration on analysing it further, carefully wrapping the close of her shield in her own trigger, and waiting. The Fae was no doubt aware of their casting, but gave no sign of breaking off to respond. A bad sign, surely.
Aristide drew power again, lifting a hand to hold them. The shield pressed against her trigger, too large to be easily held back, and she narrowed her eyes, reducing Djol and the Fae to blurs beyond Aristide's finely formed fingers. The saecstra swirled on his palm, tugging at the hook so firmly embedded in her chest, but she set the sight aside as well. Casting required a clear purpose, precise focus.
"Now."
Four shields, flaring into immediate visibility as the Fae's draw of power surged against the block. Gentian opened up to her widest output, channelling power at full strength to maintain the shield. Lady Dhara, Dest and the two princes disappeared entirely in the light sparking around them. Amazingly, the Fae didn't falter, raining blow after blow on Djol while hauling mercilessly against the blocks.
But the shields held. Panting, Gentian tightened hers further, strangling the misbegotten casting at the source. Surely it couldn't be getting enough power, now, to maintain this attack?
The Fae's physical shield went, a soap bubble pricked. He gave no notice, pressing the attack on Djol with such speed and ferocity that it seemed scarcely possible the Easterner could hold. But Djol kept the pace, still blazing with vivid joy, though he was now breathing in great gasps. And that sword–
Next, the light around Chenar vanished, although the block remained. Aristide had succeeded in completely severing the link between the prince and the Fae. He straightened, cast a judicial glance at the flaring shields covering the other three sources, and released the first spell he'd set.
Ice cracked. The sharp, echoing report of a glacier, or a frozen water-Fae shattering to fragments. Djol snapped to a defensive stance even as a wave of frost swept over them, and Gentian flinched from another blow against the block she maintained. The spell had lost form, but not drive, and now beat at the blocks, trying to wrench free enough power to regain cohesion.
And it could not. Gentian turned to catch Aristide's eye, smiling in pleased relief as she found the strain of the shield was lessening. The light sparking f
rom the blocks faded, then shimmered out of existence, along with any hint of the conjured Fae. Done.
Chapter Thirteen
Blood. Oozing from shallow cuts wherever Djol's armour had not protected him, spattered across the green and tan colours of Sax. Aspen, usually the last person to look anywhere near an open wound, drank in every crimson line.
And the man. Gods, Guard Dog had been totally the wrong thing to call him. Aspen could hit himself for not spotting the lie, but how could he have known that stolid little yes-man was a front for all this? Passion, command, arrogance. Yes, definitely, in that cool survey of his audience, and the economical production of a cloth to dry his blade. This was a man who did not see himself surrounded by his betters, and deservedly so. The phoenix that had burst from the heat of battle trotted at no man's heels.
Rearranging his mental list to place Djol on par with Aristide and Aloren, Aspen looked around to check who else was finding the Easterner by far the most interesting thing in the valley. The Atlarans were oblivious, muttering staunching spells over Dest, but most everyone else was watching him. Jurasel's gaze was definitely speculative, and Rydan's calf-love open. And Gentian. Gentian, who was supposed to be safely obsessed with the Diamond, was staring at Djol with a kind of bemused surprise that surely boded no good. Aspen wasn't pleased. It was one thing for the little gardening mage to batter herself uselessly against Diamond cliffs. It would be outright greedy of her to go hunting Phoenix as well.
"That certainly livened up the afternoon," Jurasel said, breaking the silence with sudden droll glee. "Welcome to the club, Dhara. You've gotten off more lightly than we did first time out."
"There's nothing light about this," Dhara replied sourly. She was watching her wife and children belatedly advancing. "I felt no hint of that casting being set upon me. Despite detects specifically designed to catch any attempt."
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