Normally she would never be here. Normally a civilian would never be allowed to question a suspect. But these were not normal times. When the Old Man had collapsed Munroe had been frozen at first, scared and worried about him, but also because her thoughts had turned to her mother. The Khevassar was being treated by the Queen’s physician, but she knew little about his condition other than he was still alive.
Until he returned to his duties all of the other Guardians were trying to do their best without him. Rather than waste another day, locked in a room with Grell, Tammy was chasing down other leads. It had been her suggestion that Munroe take a more direct approach. A Guardian would never beat a confession out of a suspect, but she was neither a Guardian nor a member of the Watch.
She was also what Grell seemed intent on destroying. When Munroe thought about all of those who might have been injured, or even murdered, as a result of Grell spreading fear of magic, her blood began to boil. It was an effort for her to stay calm but she was determined to try.
“If we’re just going to sit here in silence, could you at least fetch me a drink?” asked Grell, breaking the silence.
“I’m not a serving girl.”
“And you’re not a Guardian, or a member of the Watch,” he noted.
Munroe’s smile was wolfish. “Oh no, I’m not. But they sent me to speak to you anyway.”
Grell crossed his arms. “I’m not going to say another word. You’re wasting your time. So tell them to charge me with something or let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” scoffed Munroe. “You’ll be staying here for the rest of your life.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong.” It sounded as if he truly believed that as well. The man was either mad or seriously deluded. She suspected it was the latter.
“Do you know the problem with Guardians?” asked Munroe, barely waiting for him to shake his head. “They’re so stuffy. Always by the book. They’d never lay a hand on you, even though we both know you’re guilty.” Grell said nothing and waited, his piggy little eyes watching her carefully. “But as you said, I’m not a Guardian, so I don’t have to play by their rules.”
Grell looked her up and down and laughed. “Don’t waste my time. I could break you like a twig.”
Munroe grinned. She loved it when they underestimated her. “You need to understand something, Grell. The situation has changed since you were locked up. The Regent of Zecorria has declared a national ban on Seekers.” Grell’s eyes widened in surprise but then narrowed again in suspicion. “Oh no, this isn’t a trick or a game. He’s done it. He made a big speech in public and sent letters to all the other rulers, asking them to do the same.”
“That is good news,” said Grell, scratching at his scalp. He probably had lice.
Munroe put both hands on the table and leaned backwards on her bench. “Actually, it’s bad news, especially for you. There have been more attacks everywhere on Seekers. People are blaming them for all their problems. Queen Morganse herself is under pressure to sign a ban. It might lead to a complete ban on all mages.”
“More wonderful news,” he said, grinning at her. “We should have a drink to celebrate. Do you have any wine?”
“The problem is, I know that Seekers aren’t responsible. I also know that the children and magic aren’t to blame. Do you want to know how?”
Grell didn’t answer but something crept into his eyes. Doubt and then something more. A hint of fear.
Fire blossomed in the palm of Munroe’s hand and Grell fell backwards off his bench. He screamed and banged his head on the floor, but barely seemed to notice. Staring at the fire he scrambled away from her until his head hit the door.
Munroe watched as the blue fire flickered and swirled in her hand. The flames shone so brightly in the gloom, creating peculiar shadows that danced across the walls. This was how stories were told in ancient times. Woven out of thin air and nothing more than shadows. Monsters, heroes and entire worlds were conjured from images in the flames and the intricate moving shapes they created on the wall. Sometimes she told Sam a story before he went to sleep and she summoned flames like this to help with his imagination.
“Help! Let me out!” screamed Grell as Munroe stood up, looming over him. She let the fire spread, moving up her arm to the elbow and then right up to her shoulder. Holding her arm aloft, now completely wreathed in flames, it was almost as if she had become the wick. The undying black strand at the heart of the blaze. The flames were mesmerising, moving with a life and joy of their own, fed by the Source.
Grell was banging his fist on the door but no one was listening. They’d been told to ignore any loud noises coming from this room.
“No one is coming, Grell. It’s just you and me,” said Munroe, moving her arm back and forth. The flames trailed after her, creating a peculiar double image, blue and yet also black and white when she blinked.
She stalked around the table towards Grell who scuttled backwards until he was wedged into a corner. “Get away from me!” he shrieked, hitting such a high note it made Munroe wince.
“Now, I’m going to ask a question, and you’re going to answer. If you don’t answer I’m going to set you on fire. Do you understand?”
Grell’s eyes were darting around the room for something to help him, but there was nothing. It had been designed to be free of all distractions and there was nothing he could use as a weapon. He was alone in a locked room with a mage. It was probably his worst nightmare come true.
“Last time I’m asking, then I’m going to cut off one of your feet. Do you understand?” said Munroe, reshaping the flames into a short blade. She fed more power into the fire until it glowed cherry-red and then white hot. “The good news is, it will instantly cauterise the wound. So at least you won’t get an infection or bleed to death.” She wasn’t sure if her cheery smile or the words unnerved him the most.
Munroe grabbed one of his legs, yanking it straight and holding the rest of him in place with her magic. He tried to pull free but her will stopped all movement below his neck. She raised the fiery sword and then slowly brought it down towards his ankle. It licked at the material of his trousers which began to smoke and blacken. She smelled the hairs on his leg begin to burn and he screamed again.
“Stop! Please stop,” he begged. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.”
Munroe moved her arm back slightly but kept the glowing blade close to his outstretched leg. “Let’s start with an easy question. Who is in charge of your group?”
“Torran Habreel. He used to be a Guardian. He helped me a few times when I got into trouble. I used to be in the Watch.” Grell’s eyes were wide with terror, locked onto the glowing blade of fire.
“Where is he?”
“In Herakion, the capital of Zecorria. He has an office there. I know the address.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Munroe, giving him a friendly smile. “Next question. What was your goal?”
“Our goal?” he asked. She didn’t know if he was stalling for time or genuinely didn’t understand, but she had no time and even less patience. Munroe touched the edge of the blade to the bare flesh of his ankle and there was a sizzling sound. Grell screamed and desperately tried to pull away from her but it was like a child trying to outmuscle an adult.
“We wanted to get rid of all the Seekers and then all mages,” said Grell. “They’re dangerous and unclean.”
Until now Munroe had been fairly calm but his words made her temper flare. The fiery blade vanished and the restraints on Grell, who curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Unclean?” whispered Munroe.
“You’re tainted. It’s in your blood. Magic is a disease.” Grell spoke with confidence as if what he said was fact. She didn’t know if this was all part of an attempt to make her angry and somehow escape. She really didn’t care any more.
With a snarl Munroe picked him off the floor with her magic and pinned him to the wall, feet dangl
ing in mid-air. He flopped about trying to break free but she pressed harder until manacles forged from her will held him aloft. She added a tight band around his torso that squeezed his chest until he wheezed and his ribs creaked.
“You should be afraid, Grell. You should be pissing your pants, because I can torture you in ways that are not possible without magic. I can freeze the water in your blood. I can shatter the bones in your body, one at a time, without even bruising your skin. I can peel the flesh from your body one strip at a time, and keep you awake while I do it.”
“What do you want?” pleaded Grell. “I’ll tell you anything.”
“What else is Habreel planning?”
“I don’t know,” he said and Munroe squeezed the band around his chest. A rib snapped and he gasped in pain. “Wait, I can help.”
“How?” asked Munroe, flexing the band, and he groaned. “You just said you don’t know anything.”
“Habreel’s followers, his network. There are six people, his lieutenants, they work together. They used to be Guardians, too.”
“And?” said Munroe, leaning towards him.
“I know where they are.” Grell was sweating profusely, his skin flushed and he stank. It was the reek of fear, seeping through his pores.
“Names and addresses.”
Grell rattled them off but Munroe didn’t move away and ease off on the pressure. He had held on until the final moment before giving up their names. She wondered what else he was hiding.
“What else?” asked Munroe, holding up one hand in front of him, fingers spread. “You’re holding something back.”
He was desperate. “That’s all I know. I swear!”
Munroe shook her head and flexed her fingers, squeezing his chest again until another rib snapped. He howled and thrashed about before sagging against the invisible bonds that held him in place. Munroe slapped him hard across the cheek one way and then the other until he stirred.
“No sleeping just yet,” she said, yanking his head backwards. “What else do you know?”
“Water . . .” he said. Munroe held up her hand in front of his face and he recoiled. “There was a woman. An assassin Habreel called on regularly. She had her own connections.”
There was a loud knocking on the door behind Munroe but she ignored it. “What about her?”
“Habreel didn’t want people to know about her, but we all saw her in Herakion.”
The knocking came again, more insistent. “Go away!” Munroe called over her shoulder. “Why did he want to keep her a secret?”
“Because she had some kind of magic of her own.”
The door behind Munroe started to open and she released her grip on him. Grell dropped to the floor where he lay in a tangled heap, clutching his ribs. A waspish-faced Guardian swept into the room, staring down her nose at Munroe which immediately made her dislike the woman.
“Didn’t you hear me knocking?”
“I’m in the middle of questioning a suspect.”
“Well, that’s over now,” said the woman. “I’m Guardian Brook. I have orders to take him to the palace for questioning.”
“I have my orders, too, and they come from Guardian Baker.”
Guardian Brook pursed her thin lips and briefly glanced over Munroe’s shoulder at Grell. “What happened to him?”
“He tripped and fell,” said Munroe, never taking her eyes off the woman’s face. “Didn’t you, Grell?”
“Yes, I fell,” he replied, climbing back onto his bench with some difficulty.
“Who did your orders come from?” asked Munroe.
“The Khevassar.”
“Has he recovered then?” asked Munroe. “He didn’t look so well the last time I saw him.”
Brook smiled, but even that was a harsh thing that twisted her face. “He is as tough as old leather.”
“I have just one more question, then he’s all yours,” said Munroe.
“There’s no time,” said Brook, moving around the table.
“It’s very simple. It will only take a moment.”
The Guardian pulled Grell to his feet, wrinkling her nose slightly at the smell before trying to shuffle him out of the door. “It will have to wait.”
Munroe held up one arm, blocking the way. “I will be very quick.” Guardian Brook grimaced but was starting to realise Munroe wouldn’t relent.
“What was the name of the woman?” asked Munroe, keeping one eye on the Guardian and the other on Grell. “The assassin who helped Habreel.”
“I can’t remember,” he said.
“Time to go.” Brook tried to shove her aside but Munroe moved to block the door. “He said he can’t remember.”
“Give him a moment to try. Think very hard, Grell,” said Munroe, holding up her hand in front of his face and flexing her fingers. His face turned pale.
“We don’t have time for this,” said the Guardian, trying to force her way past Munroe. She let her pass but gripped Grell by the arm, stalling them both.
“I think it was Akosh,” said Grell.
“Not one more word,” snapped Brook. “You have your answer and we need to go.”
Munroe followed them into the corridor, still holding onto Grell’s arm. Brook had him by the other arm and he looked miserable in the middle, caught between two enemies. “What’s the rush?”
“I have my orders.” She kept saying that but Munroe thought she was lying.
“When exactly did you speak to the Old Man?” asked Munroe. The Guardian realised her ruse had failed as she drew her short sword. Grell tried to pull away from both of them but neither released their grip. His eyes flicked between the two women then around the corridor, searching for an escape.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” said Munroe.
Before she’d finished speaking Brook buried the blade of her sword into Grell’s side. With a shove she yanked her sword free and he toppled onto Munroe, knocking them both to the ground.
“Get off me,” she said, pushing him aside. Grell was bleeding badly and howling in pain but she wasn’t a doctor. There was nothing she could do for him. Brook was already running and Munroe followed, skidding around a corner in pursuit. They went down three corridors before she followed Brook around another corner and collided with a group of Guardians. Just beyond them stood Brook, panting and spattered with Grell’s blood.
“That’s her, she just attacked me!” said Brook, waving at Munroe.
“Let me pass,” she said as the Guardians tried to restrain her. “She just killed a suspect.”
“A likely story,” said one of the group. Two others were trying to pin her arms behind her back, but Munroe kept wriggling free.
“I’m sorry,” said Munroe. The Guardians flew away from her in all directions as she forced them back with her magic, pinning them to the walls, the floor and one to the ceiling. Brook was just regaining her breath but she set off in a panicked run again, arms and legs pumping as fast as she could move them.
Munroe tried to use her magic to trip her up, but every time Brook darted around a corner she lost sight of her prey. Finally the network of corridors in Unity Hall turned in her favour as Brook came to a locked door. Munroe wasn’t far behind and could see the Guardian frantically searching for the key in her pockets.
“It’s over. Stop running,” gasped Munroe, trying to catch her breath. Brook forgot about the keys and instead drew a dagger and unsheathed her short sword. “Steel won’t work against me. So let’s just talk this through instead.”
“Forgive me, Mother,” said Brook, throwing her dagger at Munroe.
She instinctively summoned a shield, blocking the weapon. It collided with the unseen barrier and fell to the floor. At the same time Brook cut her own throat with her sword. A torrent of blood gushed from the wound and she dropped to her knees, gagging loudly.
Munroe tried to stem the bleeding but there was so much. She couldn’t hold it back and didn’t know what to do. The sound of heavy footsteps caught her attenti
on but she didn’t think anything of it until she was pulled off Brook and pinned to the floor face down. She could have fought back, could have thrown them all off with her magic, but now there were a dozen Guardians filling the corridor. All were armed, several with crossbows pointed at her. Their numbers wouldn’t make any difference to her, but right now doing nothing was easier and safer for them.
Munroe’s eyes were drawn back to Brook, convulsing on the floor as rich blood pumped from the jagged wound in her throat. One of the other Guardians was trying to stop the bleeding but she could see it was too late. A short time later Brook’s body seemed to collapse on itself and a final breath passed through her lips. Her eyes stared on for ever, looking beyond the Veil.
CHAPTER 30
Danoph wasn’t sure how one of the students had smuggled in the whisky. Those with him were a few years too young to buy it, but right now he just didn’t care. The bottle went around the circle again and he took another gulp. It burned the back of his mouth and then seemed to scald a good portion of his throat before taking up residence in his stomach. It was cheap and rough, but no one here was a connoisseur. Besides, they were drinking to numb themselves and to forget, not for the taste.
The student next to him, a tall girl from Seveldrom with jet-black hair called Vania, touched him on the cheek, feeling his skin with her fingertips. “It’s so soft,” she mused. Her eyes were unfocused and she swayed slightly as if on board a ship. She’d never spoken to him before. Never even shown the slightest bit of interest, but now she seemed fascinated by him.
Danoph was pulled towards her and the whole world seemed to swing about. Eventually his eyes settled and now Vania was staring at his skin in the gloom. With a negligent wave of her hand she summoned mage light and he winced at its brightness.
“Your skin sparkles in the light,” she slurred, her breath tickling the side of his neck. She was gripping him around the shoulders with remarkable strength. There were worse places to be, wrapped in her arms, warm and slightly drunk on cheap whisky. As her close inspection continued Danoph let his mind wander.
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