“Where is everyone?” asked Tammy, realising the house was remarkably quiet.
“Asleep. They’ll be up in an hour or so. You’re going away again, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I’ve heard a rumour about how Kurne was murdered. A friend is looking into it for me.”
Mary’s knife paused and she briefly bowed her head before the chopping resumed.
“When you find the person responsible, are you going to kill them or bring them to justice?” she asked.
“Right now, I’m not sure.”
Mary put down the knife and clasped one of Tammy’s hands in both of hers. “I really don’t care which you choose. As long as it helps you move on.”
Tammy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I expected you to say. I thought you were going to preach about forgiveness and the Maker’s justice.”
Mary snorted and went back to her stew. “There’s no point. You’ll do it your way, no matter what I say. You could teach mules lessons about being stubborn. I just want you to get on with your life.”
“What does that mean?” asked Tammy.
“You’ve had a restless spirit for years. It’s why you’ve been travelling abroad so much. Here, you have a family, a job and a man who loves you, not that he’d ever say it.”
“Do you mean Kovac?”
“I know all about him,” said Mary, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “Maybe finding Kurne’s killer will bring you peace. If it does, we’ll all be here, waiting for you.”
Tammy wasn’t sure what to say. She ate the rest of her breakfast in silence, lost in thought. When she was done Mary walked her to the door and they embraced again. Noises above their heads told Tammy the children were starting to wake up. If she didn’t leave immediately she’d have to face them and that was something she couldn’t deal with at the moment.
Mary was far better suited at being a mother than Tammy had ever been. It was why she’d asked her sister to look after her son all those years ago. At the time finding who had killed Kurne was all that mattered and she’d no room for a small boy in her life. Her old boss, Don Lowell, had done everything in his power to help her but she’d never found those responsible. Back then, she couldn’t have given him a good home. Now, she couldn’t take him away from the only family he’d ever known.
“He’s well and I think he’s happy,” said Mary, sparing Tammy from asking about her son.
“Thank you, Mary.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
Without looking back Tammy set off down the street, leaving her sister and son behind, as she went in search of a missing Seeker.
CHAPTER 4
Munroe took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm the storm raging inside. Her mother was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.
She crossed the courtyard, barely glancing at the massive red needle that loomed over everything.
The Red Tower.
Hearing about it was one thing but seeing it for the first time was always an experience. Almost in spite of themselves every visitor stopped what they were doing and stared. They couldn’t help it. Most were awed by its size but a few had screamed. The very idea of something so massive terrified them. It was as if their minds couldn’t contemplate how such a tall building could exist.
When she’d first arrived years ago, Munroe had wondered how the tower could be so high and yet so narrow. A second later she’d wondered which poor bastard had the awful job of cleaning it. As it turned out the answer was no one.
For some reason no birds dared go anywhere near it, and not one scrap of moss or fungus grew on the blood-red stones. The building was ancient and yet the colour had never faded from its original grisly hue. Its architect, and the technique used to create such a monstrosity, was lost to history. Perhaps that was for the best if its mere presence could unsettle and scare some to the point of wetting themselves. People still laughed about that particular merchant, but he’d never been back and she didn’t think it was because of embarrassment.
Some claimed that centuries ago the first Grey Council had built it by communing with an ancient being from beyond the Veil. It had whispered secrets in their ears in return for blood and human sacrifices. Others said that they’d summoned it from beneath the earth and the tower had risen into the sky fully formed. That it had been lying dormant until it was called upon. One or two people had even told her that it was a relic from another world. Wherever it originated, Munroe knew that it was unique and she doubted there would ever be another like it.
Munroe realised she’d stopped in the courtyard and was staring at the tower like a fresh pupil. She was stalling because fear twisted inside her belly like a fat, angry snake.
Wiping tears from her face she doggedly pressed on, ignoring everyone on her way back to the visitors’ tavern.
A warren of buildings had sprung up around the tower over the years to house the staff and students, but at one time supplicants had also been common. For centuries people had sought the wisdom and expertise of the Grey Council. To cure terrible diseases. To act as mediators between intractable enemies. And sometimes to fight for kings and queens, defending the lives of innocents by shedding their own blood. These days, with so many now afraid of magic, the number of supplicants were few and far between, but the small visitors’ town, a mile away from the school, was still there.
Now the nameless town was occupied by many of the people who worked with the Red Tower, but had no magical ability. The farmers, millers, bakers, cooks, farriers, fletchers, coopers, blacksmiths and dozens of others who supported the Tower. It took a lot more than magic and the Grey Council to run the school. And with every tanner and brewer there was a husband or wife and several children. A renewed community had sprung up in the long shadow of the Red Tower. There were also signs that the town was growing with the skeletons of several new houses on the outskirts. After all, there was nowhere safer in all of Shael than right next door to a school full of mages. Only a blind, deaf idiot would try to start trouble in town.
She’d hoped the walk would calm her down, but somehow Munroe maintained the same level of panic all the way. It was a bright day but an icy wind froze the tears on her cheeks, bringing with it the smells of the town. It was a strange mix of metal, cooking vegetables and cow shit.
There had been a long period in her life when she and her mother had barely spoken, but that had changed in the last ten years. Now it was difficult for Munroe to think about a future without her.
When she reached the tavern she took a moment to wipe her face again, not that it would make any difference. She pushed open the front door of the White Hart and paused on the threshold. What she saw made her smile, despite how she was feeling. It was her whole world, everyone she loved together in the same room.
Her husband, son and mother were sitting on the floor in front of the cold fireplace. Little Sam was playing with some of his toys on a blanket while Choss and her mother were talking.
Looking at her, it was hard for Munroe to believe that she was ill. She looked a little pale and tired, but that might have been from spending too much time indoors and not getting enough sleep. Part of her wanted to believe that Eloise had made a mistake, but the moment her mother looked up and their eyes met, Munroe knew it was true. A silent message passed between them and Munroe felt as if she was falling down a well while standing still. She had to grab hold of the doorframe to stop her knees from buckling.
Samara doted on her only grandson and spoiled him rotten, but she still had her own life. It was only now, as she thought back over the last year, that Munroe realised her mother’s visits had become more frequent. She wondered how long Samara had known.
“We’ll be back soon,” said her mother, kissing Sam and touching Choss fondly on the arm. Munroe quickly crossed the room and followed her mother upstairs, not stopping to talk to Choss in case she began to cry again. She was afraid that once she started she would
n’t be able to stop. Right now she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to find a solution. Just giving up and waiting for the inevitable was not acceptable.
“Shut the door,” said Samara, before Munroe had a chance to speak. Once the door was closed she couldn’t let go of the handle and was afraid to turn around. Afraid to hear what she already knew in her heart. “Come and sit down, girl.”
Munroe swallowed the lump in her throat and sat down opposite her mother by the window. It was a bright day outside with a clear blue sky, completely at odds with how she was feeling.
“I can tell by your face that you’ve spoken to the healer,” said Samara. Munroe wondered if she would look as good as her mother if she reached the same age.
“Is that why you’ve been visiting more often?”
Samara sighed and took out the small tin she always carried with her. Inside was a neat row of long black cigars with white tips. “I knew before they did that the magic wasn’t working any more. They’d heal me and I’d feel better for a while, but then I’d start to get tired again. No matter how much I slept or ate, I was still tired. I always thought these would kill me,” she said, tapping her cigar tin.
“Can’t they do something?” asked Munroe.
Her mother shook her head. “It’s a part of me, somewhere deep inside. They can push it down for a time, but then it just grows back again.”
Samara looked at her flint and tinder and then held out the cigar towards Munroe. She embraced the Source and channelled a trickle of power into a small flame on the end of her thumb. Her mother used it to light her cigar.
“I never get tired of seeing you do that,” said Samara.
They sat in silence for a while as her mother took a few long drags. Normally she would have complained about the smell but it hardly seemed to matter now.
It took Munroe several attempts but eventually she managed to ask. “How long?”
“A few months. Maybe a year. The other healers want to keep trying, but the smart one, Eloise, she knows it’s pointless. So I’m not going far from the Red Tower for a while. I’ll still be here when you get back.”
“Get back?”
Samara looked at her as if she was an idiot. “From your first job. Isn’t this what you’ve been asking the Grey Council for?”
“I can’t abandon you.”
“Munroe, when you first came here and started studying, I thought you wouldn’t last a month. I thought you’d get bored and run away. You proved me wrong and for a while you seemed happy. But now all you ever tell me is that you want to get out. To do something with your magic, instead of being stuck in a classroom all day.”
“I do.”
“Then go and do this job for them. Prove to the Grey Council, and especially that bastard Garvey, that you’re ready for this. I’m not going to die overnight.” Samara seemed so calm about her impending death it was unnerving. Munroe just wanted to start screaming until everyone in the world felt like her. The grief inside was gnawing at her like a living thing.
Munroe shook her head. “I can’t leave.”
“So, it’s all right for your husband to see his Vorga mistress, but not for you to leave on a mission. Is that right?”
“She’s not his mistress,” said Munroe. They’d had this argument dozens of times before and her mother refused to believe what she was told. The idea of any human being in a relationship with a Vorga would normally sound like the start of a bad joke. Until a few years ago Munroe wouldn’t have thought it possible either. “She’s his . . . friend.”
Samara snorted with derision and part of Munroe couldn’t blame her for that. “Friend” was an inadequate word to describe the bond between Choss and Gorraxi after what they’d been through. She’d not spent much time with the Vorga over the years, mostly because, like all of her kind, Gorraxi was fairly terrifying, but Choss understood her like no other. Most people knew little about the Vorga, other than they weren’t human and originally they came from the sea. This allowed them to breathe on land and under water through their gills. All Vorga were tall, liked to fight and they believed in strength above all else. Although different in many ways from other Vorga, Gorraxi could still rip a man in half with her bare hands if she was in the mood.
Choss had explained that there was so much more to them but what he described made little sense to her.
But there was one thing about her that Munroe knew for certain. Gorraxi loved her husband and would do anything for him. She didn’t have to worry about Choss and trusted him to remain faithful. He’d cut off his own arms before he did anything that would hurt her.
“Do you really think you’re ready for this?” asked Samara.
“That’s what the Grey Council asked me,” said Munroe. Eloise had been in favour of her leaving on her first mission. Garvey had been completely against it, leaving the deciding vote with Balfruss. After listening to both sides he had eventually voted in her favour.
Being older and more aware than many of the other students, she knew the school needed money to keep it running. That meant the Battlemages and Sorcerers had to take paid work. Sometimes Balfruss or Garvey would leave the school for a couple of weeks or a month at a time. When they returned they were always tired and fresh rumours of their accomplishments would circulate around the school for weeks. Soon after a caravan of wagons laden with supplies would arrive at the front gates, paid for by their hard work.
“What did you say to them?” asked Samara.
“That I’ve been studying for six years. How long will it be before they say I’m ready? Ten years? Twenty?”
None of them had been able to answer her, not even Garvey. The Red Tower itself was ancient, but the new Grey Council had only been working together for a few years since reopening the school. They were still working things out and sometimes that meant making them up as they went. She was the first student even close to being ready to graduate and they didn’t really know what to do with her.
Munroe was among the oldest students at the school and she knew there were only a handful who had the potential in the next few years to become Battlemages, never mind Sorcerers. That was a title and level of understanding that would take decades to master and no one had the patience for it. Not when they could be out there exploring the world and using their magic outside of a classroom.
Many of the older students who’d learned to conceal their magic were taught how to stay in control, to keep themselves safe and prevent accidents in their communities. They were often middle-aged men and women, approached with discretion, so as not to alert their friends and neighbours. Most had no desire to learn more, didn’t want to become a Battlemage and wanted nothing to do with the Red Tower. These days it was becoming too dangerous with so much anti-magic sentiment.
Those few who did make discreet visits to the school quickly went back to their lives and none of their neighbours were any the wiser. Sometimes that was the last anyone at the Red Tower ever heard from them. Sometimes they took a gold mask home with them and became a Seeker. That way any children in their local area with magic ability came to the Red Tower, before they hurt themselves or disappeared in suspicious circumstances. It wasn’t a perfect system but it was better than nothing.
Even by Munroe’s conservative guesses, it would be at least another five or six years before the most accomplished students would be ready to graduate. That meant years of finding a lot of money to prevent the school from falling into ruin again. Sooner or later the Grey Council would have to turn to people like her to help them.
“I’m ready. I have to be,” said Munroe.
“Be careful,” said Samara, grinding the stub of her cigar onto a plate.
“I can take care of myself.”
Samara laughed. “I know you can, but no matter how old you get, it doesn’t stop me from worrying. You’re still my child. Give it twenty years with Sam and then you’ll understand.”
As they walked back to their rooms at the school, Munroe felt a pang of g
uilt. She knew her mother would be safe while she was away, but she was still having second thoughts.
Dusk was approaching and Sam was dozing as he rode on Choss’s shoulders. There weren’t any lights out here so Munroe summoned a magical globe to help them see in the gloom. It was one of the first things they’d taught her when she’d come to the school and she still used it almost every day.
“Spit it out. I can hear you grinding your teeth,” said Choss.
“I’m feeling guilty about going away.”
“You should go,” said Choss, surprising her, something which didn’t happen often. She loved him dearly but he was nothing if not predictable.
“Why do you say that?”
Choss checked that Sam was asleep before easing him off his shoulders and carrying him like a baby in his arms. “I know that lately you’ve been feeling cooped up. It’s made you difficult.”
Munroe raised an eyebrow. “Difficult?”
Choss must have known by her tone of voice that he was on thin ice, but still he pressed on. As a former champion fighter he knew when to pick his battles but this time he wasn’t backing down. “When you worked for Don Jarrow, you were a prisoner, of sorts.”
“We both were,” said Munroe, thinking back to what felt like an entirely different life in Perizzi. Don Jarrow was the head of one of the major crime Families in the city. Munroe, and, to a lesser extent Choss, had worked for him. After six years in Shael she felt like an entirely new person. Her old life seemed like a nightmare that continued to lurk in the dark corners of her mind. Back then she’d been lonely and isolated because of her uncontrollable magic, which she had thought was a curse. Most of the time she’d been drunk to numb the pain and boredom. The only bright spot in her life had been Choss. Now she had a family of her own, control over her magic and a real home.
“We were both prisoners, but now this is my home,” Choss was saying. “The Red Tower is an amazing place. I’ve seen the wonderful things they can do with magic. They can help so many people, but I know you still feel trapped. You should be out there, not stuck here,” he said, gesturing at the wider world around them.
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