“No. You’re a healthy young man. Everything is as it should be,” said Yettle, sounding confused.
“Is something wrong?”
“Hmm, oh no. I was just wondering why you don’t have any scars.”
Danoph knew what he was referring to and his mind immediately shied away from the memories. The war. It always came back to the war. Especially for his people who had suffered so much during the occupation. Yettle had been here, safe behind the walls of the Red Tower, where no army dared approach. Danoph had not been so lucky.
He could still smell the huge graves full of rotting bodies and see the hills made of bones. In some ways they were the lucky ones. Their deaths were often painful, but at least it was usually quick. Other prisoners, whose only crime had been that they were hungry, had it worse. They were often staked out and left to die of starvation. Carrion eaters picked at them, taking the tastiest morsels first before other less choosy wild animals came for the rest. After that all that remained was a collection of bones held together with sinew and gristle.
One of his jobs in the camp had been to collect what remained of those staked out and throw them into one of the mass graves. This was so that someone else could be staked out in their place. The guards had also given him a hammer to crack every skull. He’d barely been big enough to lift it, but that hadn’t mattered to his captors. They enjoyed watching him struggle and placed bets on how many hits it would take him with the hammer.
If he didn’t do it he would be tied out instead and wouldn’t eat. As it was they only gave him scraps from their meals, but it was a lot better than nothing. At one point, when he’d dared rebel, they had starved him for days to teach him a lesson. After that he ate whatever he was given and never once complained. He tried not to look at it, to think about what it was, and forced it down, willing his stomach to accept it. Survival had been everything.
“The Morrin in charge of our camp was patient and without emotion,” said Danoph, his voice low. Even now it still hurt to talk about it. “She never became angry, even at the end when we rebelled. She never let any of her people use a whip on us. Not even a knife. Instead she used ropes and weights. People strung upside down until they choked to death. A cairn of stones piled on someone’s chest until they suffocated. Stretching limbs with ropes until they came out of the sockets. She was very inventive.”
Danoph rubbed his wrists, remembering the burning of the ropes. Those who had survived the camp had scars on the outside that healed fairly quickly, but the wounds within still festered and stank with rot.
“What happened to her?” asked Yettle.
“When we rebelled she took her own life. I was there when they found her. She’d rather die than let one of us touch her. In her mind we were not worthy.”
Yettle laid a hand on Danoph’s shoulder and he tried to smile, as if the memory didn’t still burn. As if he didn’t daydream about choking the life out of her with his own hands. “But she is gone now.”
“Yes.”
“Do you still dream about her?” asked Master Yettle.
Danoph shook his head. “Not her, but sometimes what the guards did to us in the camp. Recently I’ve just been having nightmares about a terrible fire. It’s so bright. I can hear the screams and see the bodies writhing in the flames. They’re in so much pain I can’t describe it. But I can feel the heat of the fire on my skin. I can smell burning hair and hear meat sizzling. Why can I feel it?” asked Danoph, running a hand down his arm.
“I’m not sure, but I have a theory. Would you like to hear it?” asked Yettle.
“Please.”
“Your mind is making it real. At the Red Tower we deal with the remarkable every day. We use the power of creation to mould energy into wonderful abilities. We can read the weather, heal the sick, create fire, ice and light. We can talk across great distances that would take days to ride on a horse. This and so much more is possible, but most of it is done when we’re awake. There are a few abilities that live on the border, somewhere between being awake and asleep, like dreamwalking. I think yours is something like this.”
“Then, I’m doing this to myself?”
Yettle nodded slowly. “Yes. Some small part of you. A part that still hurts and agonises over what happened. You wish you could have done more. You wish you’d developed your magic earlier, so that you could have fought back and saved our people.”
He’d only been a young boy of seven at the time. It would be years before he felt the first stirrings of magic and a connection to the Source. Danoph knew it wasn’t his fault and yet it still hurt to think about all of those lives that had been lost. All of those he’d seen murdered in barbaric ways, just to satisfy the desires of a warped mind. Even revenge on the worst of their torturers had been denied when the Morrin had killed herself with a smile. A terrible fury about the evil that had been committed still raged inside. Perhaps this was what fuelled his mind while he slept, creating horrific visions of people burning to death.
“You’ve given me much to think on. Thank you, Master Yettle.”
“There are some techniques I can teach you, to quieten the mind before you go to sleep,” he said. “They will help you to rest, but only if you are at peace with what happened.”
“I don’t know that I will ever be at peace with it.”
“I misspoke,” apologised Yettle. “If not at peace then at a new level of understanding.” Danoph knew what he was going to say next but he still didn’t believe it. “It wasn’t your fault, Danoph. You couldn’t have done more. You survived and many others did not. The guilt of that, and feeling powerless, is what’s eating at your sleeping mind. You must forgive yourself.”
Danoph wiped at his face and tried to swallow the lump in his throat that would not go away. “I will try.”
“One more thing. Can you tell me what happened to the boy you touched?”
It had all happened so fast. The fight between Wren and Brunwal had been brutal but he’d never had a chance. That much was clear to Danoph from the start. Tianne had been scared for Wren but he’d known how it would turn out. As expected, she had bested him, although not in a way Danoph had anticipated, turning Brunwal’s own twisted creation against him. Once he stopped screaming that should have been the end. Then one of Brunwal’s friends had tried to interfere and without thinking Danoph had moved to intercept him.
“He was going to stab Wren. I could see it so clearly and feel her warm blood on my hands. There was so much of it, all over me. I just wanted him to stop.”
“Do you remember what you did to the boy?”
Danoph tried to recall, but it had all been on instinct. “No, I’m sorry, Master Yettle. I can’t remember.”
“That’s fine, Danoph. You can go back to class.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
Yettle smiled. “He’s resting. I’ll know more in a few days.”
A short time later Garvey and Balfruss came into the room where Yettle was still sitting, turning it over in his mind. Balfruss had only just returned from his trip and looked weary, but Yettle didn’t avoid telling him the truth.
“Well?” asked Garvey, abrupt as ever.
“He doesn’t remember.”
“Do you believe him?”
Yettle sighed. He felt wrung out and sleep tugged at him. “Yes, Garvey. Danoph reacted instinctively to protect his friend.”
“And what of the boy?” asked Balfruss.
“He’s barely alive. His mind has been shattered into a hundred pieces. There’s nothing I can do to help him.”
“How long does he have?”
Yettle shrugged. “Perhaps a few days, maybe less.”
Balfruss muttered a brief prayer then asked. “Did you tell Danoph?”
“No, I will not add to his burdens. I told him the injured boy is resting.”
“And what about his dreams?” asked Garvey. “Did you tell him the truth about them?”
“Not all of it. He’s not ready.”
<
br /> “You know what’s happening out there,” said Balfruss, pushing in his own subtle way.
“I’m sorry, Balfruss. It’s too soon,” insisted Yettle. “He needs more time.”
“Then I hope he gets it,” snapped Garvey, before storming off. Balfruss rolled his eyes and went after his old friend.
After everything that had happened to Danoph, including recent events with Brunwal, shielding him from the truth was the right decision. If they told him too much too soon, he might crumble under yet another weight. He was already struggling with a lot of guilt from his early childhood. It was not the right time to tell him about his magic, but he would have to be told soon.
Yettle hoped that when they did have that difficult conversation Danoph would understand the repercussions and avoid doing something rash, for all their sakes.
CHAPTER 25
Ignoring the five crossbows pointed at her, Munroe crossed the room and sat down at the table opposite Cannok. If the crime boss expected her to be intimidated he was in for a rude awakening.
“I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed,” admitted Munroe, sipping her ale.
“Really?” said Cannok with a smile.
“I used to work for a crime Family in Perizzi, so I’ve seen it all. Whatever piss-poor operation you’ve got here in Rojenne, it’s going to be tame by comparison.” If anything Cannok’s grin broadened at her insult. She would have to work much harder to get under his skin. “So, what do you want?”
“Are you representing your friend?” said Cannok, gesturing at the basement where Denke was recovering.
“Forget about him. He’s off the table.”
“Really?”
“Really,” insisted Munroe. “Tell me what needs doing and I’ll see that it’s done. In return you’ll leave him alone and never go near him, or his family, ever again.”
Cannok ran his finger around the rim of his mug as he mulled it over. “But he has magic, and that could be extremely useful to me.”
“He can’t be the first person with magic you’ve ever met.”
“No, but most of the time their magic ability is small and specific, like Dox, who can tell when people are lying. Do you know what your friend can do?”
As it happened Munroe didn’t know, but she was able to sense that Denke’s connection to the Source was fairly weak. It was possible he had a rare and unusual Talent that would make him useful to Cannok, but it seemed unlikely. Even so, the crime boss had found a way to use Dox and she suspected he would do the same for Denke if given the chance.
“He’s not part of the deal. You will leave him alone,” she insisted.
“From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like you have much to bargain with,” said Cannok, crossing his arms. Doctor Silver stood up and started towards the stairs. “Where are you going?”
“To see to my patients,” said Silver.
“Sit down, Doctor.”
“You’re not half as clever, or witty, as you think you are, and I’ve no time for this nonsense.”
“Unless something has changed, you still work for me, Doctor. So sit down and shut up,” said Cannok. He hadn’t raised his voice but there was a definite chill to his words. It seemed as if the crime boss liked to perform for an audience. He waited until Silver had sat down again before turning back to Munroe. All humour had now drained from his face. “Let me make your situation very clear, since the obvious seems to have eluded you.”
“Oh, please, enlighten me,” said Munroe, sitting back and hooking one arm over the back of her chair. Over Cannok’s shoulder Tok raised an eyebrow, surprised at her relaxed posture but he said nothing. Cannok and the others assumed it was bravado. Munroe struggled to keep the grin off her face but couldn’t help winking at the big man which unsettled him even more.
“You brought an injured man into my building, to my doctor—”
“Whose time I paid for, generously,” said Munroe.
“But, you haven’t paid any of us to keep his identity a secret. I hear Seekers are very unpopular these days.”
Munroe started to laugh. At first it was just a chuckle but as Cannok’s expression soured it just made her laugh even harder. “Money. Is that all you care about?” she asked between chuckles. “Now I’m really disappointed.”
“I’m beginning to think your quiver is short of a few arrows,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “You seem to have a peculiar delusion of grandeur. I rule this city and I have more than a hundred people working for me. Five of them have crossbows pointed at your back. You, on the other hand, have an injured friend with a target on his back and a purse half full of silver. You have nothing to barter with. I am in control and I decide if you live or die.”
“Do you follow him because he pays you well, or because he’s the only crime boss in the city?” she said, addressing her question at Tok. The big man didn’t answer but he did squirm a bit. Doctor Silver just laughed and crossed her arms while Cannok glared at them both. “What about the rest of you?” said Munroe, turning in her chair to look at the five men with crossbows.
“It seems as if a demonstration is required. You seem to be having some trouble understanding the danger,” said Cannok.
“A demonstration is an excellent idea,” said Munroe.
“Tok, teach her some manners,” said Cannok. The enforcer glanced at his boss and then back to Munroe, who smiled at him sweetly. “What are you waiting for?” snapped Cannok, when the big man didn’t move.
“What are your instincts telling you?” she asked Tok, ignoring the seething crime boss.
“That you’re dangerous. And you’re not afraid,” he replied, watching her closely.
“Look at the size of her!” scoffed Cannok. “Doctor Silver could probably best her, and she’s ancient.”
“Do you have a family, Tok?” asked Munroe.
“A wife. Two boys, aged five and three.”
“And what would you do to protect them?”
“Anything.” The way in which he said that one word told Munroe a great deal about him. It was neither threatening nor aggressive. But she also had the feeling he would be utterly implacable if anyone stood between him and his family. He would never, ever stop and would fight until his last breath. They had a great deal in common.
“I have a husband and a son. There is nothing in the world that I love more and nothing I wouldn’t do to get home to them.”
“I understand.”
“What are you two talking about?” asked Cannok. “Tok, if you won’t do anything then someone else will. Farrell,” he said, pointing at the bowman on the far left. “Shoot her in the foot.”
Farrell had less intuition than Tok as he pointed his crossbow at one of Munroe’s feet and pulled the trigger.
With the speed of thought she embraced the Source, raised her hand and stopped the crossbow bolt in mid-air. It hung there, as if trapped in amber, neither swaying nor twitching. Without looking, and with a casual wave of her hand, Munroe redirected the bolt’s trajectory so that it lodged into the far wall instead.
“I would suggest you don’t try that again,” she said, glaring at Cannok. His face had turned pale and his eyes kept flicking between the bolt and Munroe. She’d been unpopular before, but the atmosphere became even worse at the realisation she was a mage.
“All of you, fire! Kill her now!” screamed Cannok, scrambling back out of his chair. As Munroe turned to face the other bowmen the Morrin by the door drew her sword as well.
“Let’s dance,” said Munroe, grinning at them.
Twisting her left hand she unleashed her Talent, manipulating the odds and breaking all of the crossbows into pieces. The shattered weapons sprayed bits of wood and wire everywhere. One man fell to the ground clutching his ruined hands which now had pieces of metal sticking out of them. The others had fared better, but they quickly discarded the bows and drew a variety of blades.
“Put your weapons down and I won’t hurt you,” said Munroe. “If you do
n’t then I’m not going to be gentle.”
One man snarled and ran at her with his sword raised, quickly followed by two more. Lifting him off the floor slightly she increased the swordsman’s momentum and stepped aside. He flew through the air and hammered into the wall with a sickening crunch of bone before sliding to the floor in a bloody-faced heap.
Another had thrown a dagger which she stopped in mid-air, turned it around and sent it flying back towards the owner. The dagger impaled the man in his right shoulder and he stumbled back out of the fight.
The other two, and the Morrin, were slightly smarter as they muttered something and then all attacked together. Raising both hands and focusing her will, Munroe stopped them all at once, freezing their limbs until they became living statues. All six had no control over their bodies except for the movement of their eyes. Even their jaws were clamped shut. A few strained against their invisible bonds but nothing happened. She was simply too strong and there was nothing they could do.
Across the room Cannok finally realised he was not in control of the situation and never had been since the start. Beside him Doctor Silver was grinning but Tok seemed troubled.
“If you’d thought about it, even for a moment, you might have asked yourself, who would the Red Tower send to warn its Seekers?” said Munroe. “A stable boy? A cook? An innkeeper? Or maybe, just maybe, a Battlemage.”
With that Munroe raised her left hand and behind her all six thugs were lifted off the floor and slammed into the ceiling. She let them fall naturally to the floor where they lay groaning in pain, before lifting them up again and creating more dents in the ceiling. Then she let them drop a second time before pinning them to the floor, unable to move and barely able to breathe.
“Now, let me make your situation very clear. You’re no longer in charge.”
“But—”
“I’ve heard enough from you,” said Munroe, pinching his mouth shut. Cannok squawked and tried to open his jaw but his struggles were feeble against her magic. “So, why do you work for him?” she said, directing the question at Tok.
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