by Graeme Ing
Kristach. It had to be the library. I’d never get a second chance.
I raced headlong toward one of several stone stairwells descending into the underground of the Guild. People got in my way, but none tried to stop me. They leaped back as I hurtled past. A dozen cepi kept pace right behind me, and a growing thunder of boots sounded on the staircase above. The Seekers had tuned in to what the cepi were seeing and had joined the chase. I panted and wheezed as I picked my way through the underground warren, past classrooms, study halls, and storerooms.
Master Begara appeared from a doorway ahead. He cried out, and I sensed the surge of power as he readied a spell. I bounced off a wall into a side passage, gritting my teeth against the stitch in my side and the cramping in my muscles. A sinister screech cut through the chattering of the cepi. That was a lochtar on my tail. Holy Belaya!
I sucked in air and forced my failing body into a new burst of speed until finally the ancient, decorated arch of the catacombs came into view. I sprinted beneath the monstrous skull that formed its keystone and threw out my hands to stop myself plunging over the low wall ahead. I gripped its stone rail and watched the cepi and lochtar smash against the invisible barrier beneath the arch. Its magic sparked and they vanished on impact, amid a myriad of bright flashes. That had been too close. I was committed now, or perhaps I should be.
I allowed myself a few precious moments to catch my breath, and then trotted down the long ramp that spiraled around a fifty-feet-wide shaft that bored deep into the ground. Globes of everfire floated in midair up and down the shaft, but no necromantic magic functioned in the catacombs that held the library. That made no sense to me, but I’d probably skipped the lesson about why that was.
I hurried on, knowing that the Seekers and Begara wouldn’t be far behind. The warded arch wouldn’t stop them. After two complete circuits, the ramp opened out into the library—aisles and aisles of bookcases stretching back into the earth like the spokes of a wheel. Since no apprentices were allowed, only a handful of figures moved between the bookcases.
I snatched a catalog and glanced through it on my way down, until I knew exactly where to find the books on Caradan. About ten feet of shelf space had been dedicated to him, and I fidgeted, peering at the spines in the low light while snatching glimpses toward the ramp. The Seekers would be along any moment.
Which books? I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I grabbed as many volumes as I could carry and hurried down another two turns of the ramp for good measure. Then I headed deep into the library, sitting with my back to the rough outer wall.
I picked up the first book and skimmed the pages. What had possessed someone to build a library with such poor lighting? I knew that I was supposed to take the books to the study tables, but sitting in the bright light would be suicidal. The book narrated Caradan’s legend, but I knew the story, everyone did. Lately I’d grown to know it too well. I shivered and tried to shake the images of men dragged screaming into The Gray by the wraith and the lochtars.
The horrific events of that night in his tower had resulted in the Elik Magi abandoning the city forever. He’d driven out the people’s greatest defenders. Pictures in the book portrayed Caradan as a grim, ugly man. The book also spoke of Caradan’s fears that the Elik Magi had planned a similar coup, to destroy his Guild. Such politics made no sense. Malkandrah needed both sects of magic. How could either be a threat to the other?
I fidgeted and the hairs on my neck tingled. The library was deathly quiet, but the Seekers had to be getting closer. I couldn’t afford to get trapped here, but I hadn’t discovered anything yet.
What links the Guildmaster and Caradan?
I flicked open the next book and stared into the haunting face of a woman. Dressed in green, her hair was pure white and her eyes were a dazzling violet. After my initial shock, I appreciated her exotic beauty. Caradan’s wife. He’d slaughtered her too. The text confirmed the events of my nightmares, that she’d been head of the Elik Magi. The two most powerful wielders of magic married to each other. I turned the page to see the violet-eyed woman and Phyxia posing together. I gasped. Phyxia seemed to know everyone, but now I was totally confused about the woman’s allegiances.
Shadows descended the ramp a single turn above me. I grabbed my books, leaving behind the ones I had already perused, and hurried to the ramp. I loped down another two turns and again out to the periphery of the book stacks. Somehow, I’d have to find a way to get past the Seekers and up to the main level. That was bound to be guarded. This was going horribly wrong. I hadn’t given any thought to getting out, but then I hadn’t planned on being spotted. In hundreds of hallways and passages, what were the odds of running into Fortak?
I picked up another book and thumbed through the dusty pages. My gaze fell on Fortak’s name. Only ten solars ago he’d attempted to resurrect Caradan. Kristach. I raced through the chapter, squinting in the poor light. It was clear that Fortak had based his iron rule on methods developed by Caradan, and had arrived at the preposterous conclusion that he and Caradan together would be an unstoppable force.
I rubbed my tired eyes. Did the masters know of this? Is that what Fortak really planned?
Footsteps hurried down the ramp. I couldn’t stop reading now. Fortak had attempted a Resurrection in Caradan’s Tower. That was a taboo spell. I couldn’t imagine such a battle of magic and wits between two of the most powerful necromancers of the past century. I shuddered. The book droned on for several pages about the law against resurrections. I skimmed them and then closed my eyes, fighting back the ache forming in my skull. Ayla had been right—I needed more rest.
Somebody grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. With a yelp, I stared into the face of Master Semplis. How had he sneaked up on me?
“What have you done? What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “The Prime Guildmaster has alerted the entire Guild to find you.”
He tugged me toward the ramp, but I wrapped an arm around a stone pillar and held my ground. He opened his mouth to shout our location.
“Master, wait. I can explain.”
“Save it for the Guildmaster. Down here,” he yelled.
Kristach. I was dead if I couldn’t win him over. I prayed to every God I could name that he wasn’t a part of the Covenant.
“Hear me out, I beg you. I know you’ll understand.”
He gave me a shake and shoved me back against the pillar. His strength surprised me, considering his age. Ridges of hardened skin formed semicircles below his drooping eyelids, one eye blue and the other green.
“Someone in the Guild is behind the elemental attacks,” I said in a single breath, keeping an eye on the ramp.
“What elemental?”
“The creature burning down the city.”
His eyes widened. “Who in the Guild?”
“The Guildmaster…” No, he’d never believe that. “…is, er…protecting their identity. I’m trying to find out who it is.”
He moved in closer. His breath stank of strong wine. “Why would the Prime Guildmaster do that?”
“I don’t know, Master. To avoid scandal?” Yes, Semplis was a great protector of the Guild.
“How are you involved?”
“I was there at the first fire. With Hallum. Ask Hallum.”
Or was Hallum in on it? Kristach, I was seeing conspiracies everywhere.
Shadows played on the ramp wall. A crowd descended.
“I’ve been trying to report to a master. Begara wouldn’t help.” That was a bonus, dropping that traitor in it.
His face was an inch from mine now. “Why should I trust you?”
A group of five Seekers, armed with pain-sticks, came into view on the ramp.
“Because I’m telling you…begging you to investigate.”
He reduced his grip on my arm, allowing me to slip behind the pillar. The Seekers were almost upon us. The buzz of their weapons gave me goose bumps.
“I’m trying to help the Guild,” I whispered. “I want
to do the right thing. Help me. Please.”
“Did you find him?” Two of the Seekers hurried along the aisle of books toward us. “Did you find him?”
“Yes,” Semplis said.
I slumped against the rear of the pillar, trembling, remembering what the Duke had said about Fortak’s demons tearing me apart.
Semplis moved to intercept the Seekers.
“He was headed toward the deeper catacombs. Hurry.”
Caradan peered out from behind the beer keg. Binar squirmed beside him, his panted breathing increasing with each shriek of the Elik Magi as the wraith hurtled among them.
“What have you done?” a female voice bellowed from the gallery above.
Caradan’s wife leaned against the railing, dressed in a long mauve dress and headscarf that covered most of her white hair. Two of her Magi stood protectively beside her. Even at a distance, Caradan could see the fire in her violet eyes.
“What I should have done long ago, Yolanda,” he replied.
He reached one arm toward her and lightning crackled and sparked from each finger. She and her men scattered along the gallery and the lightning hammered against the wall where they had stood, melting the surface and staining it black. All three of them retaliated with coordinated green rays. Caradan rolled into the open, propelled in part by the force of the impact behind him. Hot blood and gobbets of flesh rained down on him, and he frantically wiped and smeared the remains of Binar, his childhood friend, from his face and arms.
“Lak take you, woman. I won’t let you destroy my Guild.”
Caradan poured energy into the wraith that he had summoned. The amorphous blackness grew, engulfing the room, seeming to exert a pressure on the air, even though it did not exist in the material world. Shadows animated and reached, clawlike, for the living. Magic flickered throughout the room as one by one, the surviving Magi destroyed the lochtar stalking them. The wraith ascended toward the gallery.
A smirk spread across Caradan’s face.
“Stop this,” Yolanda yelled. “Are you insane? I…”
She braced against the full fury of the wraith, weathering its primeval roar and the vortex that tugged at her. Her scarf tore free and disappeared into the black void. Her long, white hair flowed out in front of her face. With both hands, she blasted magic into the faceless might of the wraith.
“I seek no such thing,” she said. “Enough. Let’s talk this through.”
She waved one hand and blinding light flared into every nook and cranny of the hall. The wraith screeched so loud that Caradan clapped his hands to his ears. A cauldron of light and dark seethed in midair, and then, in an instant, both disappeared.
Caradan bellowed in frustration. It wasn’t fair that his wife had mastered both disciplines, necromancy and sorcery. That she was leader of the Elik Magi was bad enough. How could it be that her shadow magic surpassed even his? He slammed his bloody fist into the floor. Damn the tristak woman.
“I don’t trust you. Call off your men,” he said.
“End this now, I beg you.”
She hurled a spell and it exploded on the ground before him—a warning shot. The floorboards hissed and smoked as acid melted them. He rolled away once more and leaped to his feet, his back against the wall. A four-feet-wide hole gaped before him.
He forced a smile. “You’re right, my love. I shall end it.”
Magic gathered and burned in his veins. It threatened to consume him. Capillaries in his skin burst under pressure, and blood oozed from every pore to mingle with Binar’s blood. With a grunt, he unleashed the spell, launching it at the wooden rafters. It triggered silently, ripping a hole between worlds from which revenants poured, croaking and gurgling as they swarmed the room. The remaining Elik Magi went down beneath a torrent of the vile creatures. Caradan stood, hands on hips, his eyes sparkling as the sorcerers were torn limb from limb.
There, woman! It is done. I win.
Without warning, magic tickled him and ice spread through his body as if he were plunged into an ice bath. He knew this spell of hers—hated it. His arms twitched uncontrollably, and his legs gave out. His stomach heaved. There was a transitory sensation of him existing in two places at once. The hall flickered around him.
The next moment, he crashed into the nightstand in his bedroom three floors above. A full washbasin overturned, soaking him. He roared in frustration, tore the wet hair from his eyes, and rolled onto his side. Fresh air gusted in the open window and he shivered in the chill night air. Pins and needles racked his body. Otherwise the room was still and quiet—no magic, and no undead whirling above his head. Yolanda sat on the edge of the bed, calm and unfazed.
“How dare…” He smacked his numb lips. “…you coerce me with that spell.”
“It didn’t have to be this way,” she said. “Wherever did you get this flight of fancy? I never intended harm to your Guild. Why didn’t you talk to me first, man to wife?”
Caradan crawled to the bed and pulled himself upon it. She tore away the remnants of his robe and bundled it up to wipe the blood from his arms, neck, and face. Then she threw the bloody rag into the corner, an action he thought mirrored her contempt for his way of life. He chewed his lip. What game did she play now?
“Why damn yourself over such a thing? Your soul…you’ve thrown it away.” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Let me help you. I can help you, but you have to trust me.”
Caradan narrowed his eyes but let her draw him to her bosom. There was yet a way to win. He patted the dagger at his belt.
The warmth of Yolanda’s body burned my cheeks, and her hand stroking the back of my neck soothed me. I reached up and fingered her hair. My gaze settled on the destroyed nightstand under the window, and my bloody robe in the corner. White drapes billowed into the room. I barely noticed the chill as I lay in her arms.
Wait. This isn’t right. What foul dream is this? This is Caradan’s life, not mine. Wake up.
I pulled away and shuffled to the end of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” a woman asked.
I gasped. It wasn’t Yolanda who kneeled on the bed, but Phyxia. My pulse raced. That wasn’t how it was. Caradan was married to Lady Yolanda.
Phyxia’s silken, silver hair cascaded from her head between her slender, twitching ears, but her eyes were a lurid violet like Yolanda’s. I blinked furiously and slapped myself in the face. It was a nightmare. If I knew that, why couldn’t I wake?
“Let me help you.” Her arms reached for me. “Your revenants can’t reach us here.”
I glanced around the room, searching for inspiration, something to end the perverted twist to my nightmare. What if I simply left? My legs didn’t want to move. I pictured the words on the page, having just read them in the library. This night had not ended well.
Phyxia-Yolanda pulled the dress over her head. My breath caught and my heart thudded. I gawked at her perfect curves, flawless skin, and her hardened nipples. A fire burned in my shorts.
Lak and all his demons!
She crawled toward me across the bedcovers, her tongue moistening her lips. How I’d longed to kiss those lips. Had Phyxia known how much I’d loved her? Surely she’d known. I shivered and shook my head to clear it. No. This was Lady Yolanda, long dead. This was a dream. But if it were a dream, what harm could come from a single kiss? I could forgive her betrayal for one kiss. Or more, perhaps.
“Sishka,” she murmured.
My heartbeat boomed in my ears, and I moved to meet her halfway. She smelled of feresens, and my nostrils drank deep. My hands quivered as they settled about her naked waist. I closed my eyes and our lips met, gently caressing each other. My body numbed from the heat of that single touch and the closeness of her body. It wasn’t a deep kiss but it was everything I’d dreamed of, and for now that simple contact was enough.
Something jabbed into my thigh. The sheathed knife.
I leaped back, mourning the parting of our mouths. Metal chilled my hands, and I studi
ed the wicked blade that I clenched tightly.
Wake up! I don’t want to be in this ending.
“What are you waiting for, sishka?” she asked. “You know how this sordid, twisted tale ends. Finish it.”
I stared, lost in her unblinking violet eyes, then I lurched forward, my knife aimed between those perfect breasts.
Someone was screaming.
My eyes snapped open. I realized that it was me. My breath came in rapid pants. I wasn’t in the tower. I wasn’t holding a knife. I was safe in the inn, in my bed. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I’d expected to see blood everywhere, but predawn gray lit the room in monochrome shades.
Now I remembered. Semplis had misled the Seekers, and then helped me escape the library and the Guild. My breathing slowed, but I couldn’t stop shivering even though the window was closed.
Who was putting these tristak nightmares into my head? Why? Was I that dense that I couldn’t grasp their meaning?
My stomach lurched. I cast the blankets aside, leaped out onto the cold wooden floor, and rushed to the window. I hung my head out into the freezing air, sucked in deep breaths, and waited for the nausea to pass. Back at the washbowl beside the bed, I plunged my face into the water and washed the sweat away.
“What happened?” Ayla asked from the doorway.
I jumped, nearly knocking the washbowl off the table.
She slipped inside and clicked the door shut. Her gaze flicked around the room, hovered on my bed shorts, and then traveled up my bare chest. Her cheeks flushed.
“I heard you screaming,” she said.
She wore a flimsy, one-piece chemise, cut low over her breasts and hanging loose to knee height. I gasped. My turn to stare. She had clipped her hair back. For a fleeting moment Phyxia was before me once more, lifting the dress over her head. Then I saw Phyxia sprawled on blood-soaked sheets with Caradan’s knife thrust into her belly. I swallowed the rising bile.
“What?” Ayla asked.