Arrow’s eyes drifted back to the crack in the ground.
“I wonder,” she said, and began walking around the side of the hill, following the crack.
“You think this will take us inside?” Orlis asked. He was as pale as the others, staying close beside Gilean.
“I hope so.”
“Wait here a moment,” Kallish told Arrow. “Xeveran, take your third ahead. That looks like worked stone there.” She pointed to a place where the grass and soil had slid away from the temple’s base, leaving rocks and stone. Arrow’s eyes saw only confusion for a moment, then realised that the stone was in even lines. A wall. “Get ropes ready,” she told the rest of her cadre.
Arrow never knew how the White Guard managed to carry so much equipment. In what seemed no time at all, they had lengths of rope ready so that when Xeveran sent his junior back to report that it was, indeed, a wall and there was a narrow opening they could get through, the White Guard were ready with ropes to relay everyone across the unsettled ground in small groups, bracing themselves at once when Seivella’s foot slipped and she nearly tumbled down the mountain, held up by the rope at her waist.
Arrow made it across the sliding earth and stones without falling, by some miracle. She was in the first group across, Kester behind her with Zachary. The Prime did not need the ropes, she was sure, but used them anyway.
She sent her senses through the wall and almost choked.
“There has been blood magic done here.” She looked back at Miach and Elias, coming across the gap in the next group, face tight. “And Erith death.”
That last was probably unnecessary, as everyone else had a far sharper sense of smell. She saw the moment that Miach and Elias caught the scent of death, the tightening of their bodies, and the dark looks they exchanged. Miach had been first guard at the Palace for a very long time, many of his cadre serving with him for decades. Elias’ cadre were equally close.
“Where is the opening?” she asked Xeveran. He pointed a little further ahead, where two of his third were very carefully scraping soil and loose stone away from a breach in the wall, using their hands. The hole was big enough for them all to get through one at a time.
Arrow did not wait for anyone else, slipping past Xeveran and his third, going through the gap, muffled protest from Kester behind her. She trusted him to follow.
The room she found herself in, lit by sunlight pouring through the new hole in its wall, was unremarkable. There were no bodies, no destruction, no blood. Beyond the open doorway she could hear shouting. A fierce argument.
“I am going to look ahead,” she told Kester, who was white around the mouth.
“I am coming with you.”
“Hells, that stinks,” Zachary commented, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Get on, you two. We don’t have all day.”
Arrow gave the command to open the shadows, Kester grabbing her arm as she stepped through.
“I did not plan to leave you behind,” she told him when they were in shadows.
His mouth curved a moment. “Very well. Let us go.” He was still tense as he walked beside her on silent feet out of the room. The scent of death carried even into the shadow world.
The room they had used as an entrance onto a larger room which contained too-still shapes against the far wall. More than one dead. Arrow swallowed the impulse to go and check, instead going with Kester to the only other doorway they could see.
Whoever had built the temple and its underground chambers had believed in building large, but had not believed in doors, so they were able to step through into the next room, finding it crowded with people. The people all seemed to be lined up against the walls, very still, the inky twist of surjusi taint running through a number of them. Arrow lost count at twenty. Elias and Miach’s missing cadres. Perhaps. The tainted ones were definitely alive.
There was only one other door from this room, leading to a much larger room with more people, actively moving around, and odd traces of spellwork she could not work out. This must be where the argument was. Arrow could not count the people from the shadow world. There were too many. A number of them had the telltale trace of surjusi. Arrow touched Kester’s arm, and then her sword, hoping he would understand her meaning. He nodded, jaw set, before they moved on, carefully skirting around the people. She could not tell who they were from the shadow world.
The room beyond that was empty, as was the one beyond that, half-filled with what looked like fallen stone with no other way out.
Arrow pulled them into the corner of the final room and out of the shadows. It was almost as dark here as it had been in the surjusi realm and she quickly enhanced her sight. She had been right about the fallen stone. There were faint outlines in the roof overhead, edged spaces showing where the staircases would have gone before the stairs were crushed by falling rock and some of the pillars from the temple overhead. It was something of a miracle that the underground rooms had survived. The walls around them seemed intact.
Satisfied that they were in no immediate danger, she got some more food out of her bag, Kester doing the same and also keeping watch, listening intently. His hearing was far sharper than hers and she hoped he was able to understand enough to work out what was going on. All she could tell was that there were several male voices arguing over something. The individual voices and words were too muffled by distance for her to tell who was speaking.
Even as she strained to listen, there was an increase in the pitch of fury of the argument followed by a short silence and then a powerful explosion that deafened hear and lifted the hair around her head.
Kester was moving before she was, going through the doorway. She followed as fast as she could, stumbling on an uneven bit of floor, knowing they were too late even as they ran.
They came into the chamber where the argument had been taking place to find it almost empty, the air rippling with the after-effect of a translocation spell. The floor was vibrating, too, cracks in the walls possible after-effects of the spell or the earthquake. The spell was gone, but the impact left told her that it had been powerful, glimmerlights around the walls still trembling in the aftershock.
Even as they arrived, Kallish and the others were coming through the other door, weapons ready, battle wards crackling around them.
“They are gone,” Kallish noted, face tight.
“Almost all.” Arrow moved forward reluctantly. Among the disturbed flagstones, there was a figure crumpled against the cracked wall, a familiar face drawn with pain and exhaustion, white hair plastered around his head. Serran. He did not look like the Erith’s most powerful mage. He looked like an old man close to his last breath.
“Miach and Elias’ cadre are in the next room,” Kallish pointed out.
“Some are tainted,” Arrow said, not taking her eyes off Serran. He might look worn out, but he had lived a long life and she did not trust him.
“And some are dead,” Kallish answered, voice harsh.
Arrow looked around and saw the grief on Kallish’s face.
“I will be there in a moment,” she promised.
“Mage,” Kallish began.
“A moment, Kallish,” Kester said gently. “We need to know what happened.”
CHAPTER 24
Arrow knelt on the floor near Serran, the sword at her back stirring in unease. There had been a lot of people in this room showing signs of surjusi taint.
“What happened?” she asked him.
He looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears and faint amber. The translocation spell had been his, she realised, his power almost gone.
“You have your cloak.”
“What happened?” she asked again.
“It is good you have your cloak.”
“What happened?” she asked a third time, lacing power into her voice. It would normally have had no effect on Serran. He was normally too powerful. Now, it was just enough to prompt him to answer. He hissed a breath, tears falling, face twisting in what looked like fury and regret. It
was an odd combination.
“I was weak,” he answered her, finally, voice soft and trembling. “Too weak. He broke me.” This last a bare whisper, words forced. Colour flared in his cheeks. Shame.
“The Gardener?” Kester asked, astonished.
“No,” Arrow shook her head, puzzle pieces fitting together in her head. Serran’s odd behaviour. The fact he had been apparently unharmed when she had found him, trapped in the surjusi lord’s dungeon. “This is older. Saul.” She saw from Serran’s flinch that she was right. She settled more comfortably on the floor, cross-legged. “In the dungeons in Saul’s fortress.”
Serran looked away from her, from them all, pressing his cheek against the wall, biting his lip. Ashamed.
“He had you for a long time,” she said gently. In the world, she had grown from a small child to adulthood in the time he had been gone. Time moved far more slowly in the demon realm. And the Erith’s favourite mage was not known for his combat skills.
“You could have told us,” Kester prompted. He was crouching at her shoulder, setting himself between her and everyone else.
“I do not think he could,” Arrow guessed. “I think Saul made sure of it.” She looked at the tightly-woven cloth that Serran was wearing, that she had thought was an odd choice for him. The robe had a high neck. “Did he give you something to carry?”
Serran’s head jerked around, amber flaring in his eyes for a moment before he gave a single nod, one hand reaching up and tugging under his collar, bringing out a familiar chain with a familiar bit of stone at the end of it.
“I cannot take it off,” he said, lips trembling.
“How did I miss that?” Arrow wondered, staring at the bit of stone. The sword was barely reacting to it, and, if she had not been paying attention, she might have missed the restless twist through the spells, it was so subtle.
“I am quite good at spells,” Serran told her with a touch of his old arrogance. She thought about the concealment spell they had found on the bit of taint in Evellan. It had been an elegant piece of work. An original use of magic. A new spell. Serran was famous for creating new spells. It would normally be cause for celebration.
“So, you made a new concealment spell. And gave that to Saul,” she concluded. She wondered what else he had created, in the surjusi lord’s dungeon. She shook her head slightly, recognising bits of the spell from the bone she had pulled out of Evellan. “And Saul shared it with Nuallan.”
A wash of colour rose in his face and he could not quite hold her eyes.
“He had high hopes for Nuallan. He was furious when you killed him.” Serran’s colour faded a little and a small smile crossed his mouth. “No one knew how strong you were.”
“Evellan could have died,” she told him.
“But you found it,” he answered, lifting his head slightly, eyes meeting hers for a moment, an odd smile playing on his mouth. “Not anyone else.”
“Did Saul tell you to bring me here? Is that why you wanted me to come to the heartland?” Her voice was too sharp. And she could not take the words back.
“No.” He shook his head, staring into distance for a moment, then blinking and looking back at her. “You are the last of the House. At least, I thought you were. I wanted you in the heartland to keep you safe.”
“No one and nowhere is safe,” she told him. She remembered the lady on the beach, screaming her fury at the uncaring air, telling her that the surjusi realm had been green and full of life once.
“He promised that the heartland would be safe,” Serran answered, a tremor running through him. “He wanted to live here. Not destroy it.”
“And you believed him?” Kester’s tone was sharper than hers had been, disbelief clear.
“I think he wanted to believe it,” Arrow said. “You need to tell us what you know,” she told Serran, tone hardening. “How did he get here? How many are with him? Who are they? Where did you send them?”
“I cannot tell you.” His eyes met hers again, the fading amber in his drowned by the silver in hers. “He forbid me to talk.”
The piece of stone seemed too small to have such an effect. The size did not matter. He was telling the truth. She did not need magic to tell her that. The surjusi power was almost invisible in the world, and yet it held one of the most powerful Erith mages captive.
She drew a long breath in, delaying the next part.
“We cannot leave you as you are,” she told him. The stone was a weakness, and a potential access point for Saul.
She did not want to do this. The Erith’s most famous mage was a flawed person, a poor excuse for a father and grandfather. At the same time, he had one of the most brilliant minds the Erith had ever seen, had founded the Academy, had produced spells that were in everyday use.
Yet she could not leave the stone there. It made them all vulnerable.
And knew that, when she removed that small bit of stone, that sharp mind would crumble. He would be like the Magister, staring into distance, all the energy and ambition that had driven him through the years, the ruthlessness that had led him to collect bones in a box, faded to nothing. A fitting end for the Magister. For anyone who would use unclean magic.
Not fitting for Serran. Cruel, to take his mind away.
“There is no choice,” Kester told her, voice soft. “Let me.”
“No. It is surjusi. It can still cause taint.”
She rose to her feet slowly, as if she were older than Serran, and took the final step towards him.
“I am sorry,” she told him. She did not know him well, and had been annoyed by him most of the time she had known him. Still, there was a hard lump she could not swallow and her eyes were burning.
“Too curious for my own good,” he answered, eyes lifting. To her shock, he was smiling. “At least I got to see you grown. And know that one of my children is alive. I wish you well.”
“Mage,” Arrow answered, her throat closing, then lifted the chain from his neck, stepping back.
Even as she moved back, Serran seemed to age again, even more weak and frail than he had been. Arrow took the chain and stone a few paces away, laid it on a flagstone, and used the flat of the sword, its banishment spells blazing, to crush the stone into dust, then burned it with a touch of mage fire.
Only when she was done did she look back at Serran.
He was settled with his back to the wall, cross-legged, hands on his knees. He was ancient. And calm. He met her eyes and nodded, once, amber fading in his eyes.
“We will watch him,” Iserat offered. “While you tend the others.”
“Yes.” Arrow kept her sword out and went to the next room, where the remains of Miach and Elias’ cadre were.
~
The warriors had been placed along the walls, sat down like giant dolls with their legs straight out in front of them, arms by their sides, stripped to their shirtsleeves, more than one bleeding from wounds, breathing lightly through the pain. They looked exhausted and defeated. None of them had their magic back. And many were tainted.
She tried not to look at the faces as she went around the room, identifying the ones who were clean.
Kallish and her cadre silently took away the ones who were clean, moving them into Orlis’ care, bringing food, water, and bandages. Seivella and Evellan worked with Orlis, each of them having years of experience in patching up students who had over-stepped their abilities.
Miach and Elias moved quietly among the warriors, with quiet words, many of the warriors close to tears. The scent of death seemed to grow stronger as the healing continued.
With the clean warriors were away, Arrow was left with eight who were tainted, inky dark of surjusi twisting through them. They had not been willing, their bodies bearing wounds.
“I do not think stabbing them is a good idea,” Kallish commented. “They are badly damaged.”
“I know,” Arrow answered. She was standing where she could see all eight at once, sword spells restless in her hand, words for the banis
hment spell, Serran vo Liathius’ banishment spell, etched along the blade. It was worth trying, at least. “Stand back,” she told Kallish, who immediately moved her warriors behind Arrow.
The banishment spell poured out of the blade, silver lightning crackling around the room, landing on each of the eight in turn, the piercing shriek of surjusi fury deafening as the taint left them.
“They are clean,” Arrow said. Kallish moved forward with Orlis, Evellan, and Seivella staying with the others.
Arrow put the sword away and moved to the next doorway. Like removing Serran’s chain, it was not something she wished to do. She could not put it off any longer.
“You do not have to look,” Kester told her. He had seen whatever was in there. She could tell from his face. And was trying to shield her. Part of her wanted to let him. But she needed to know. To see what had been done.
“Yes. I do.”
There were nine bodies in the room. All warriors. Bled to death, from their pallor and the wounds on their bodies. Tortured. Their souls were shredded, screaming, ripped to pieces in second sight.
Miach came to stand beside her, tears on his face.
“Three of mine. Two of Elias’. Four from Ferdith’s cadre. They did not deserve this.”
“No.” Arrow tilted her head. “Ferdith’s cadre? Ferdith is not here.”
“No.” Miach’s face pinched further, white around his mouth. “There is no trace of the rest of them.”
Four warriors from Ferdith’s cadre. Arrow remember the cadre leader’s stiff outrage at her appearance and manners. He might be rude, but no one got to the position of cadre leader without the respect of their warriors. She looked at the pain in Miach’s face and wondered where Ferdith was, with the rest of his cadre, and had no good answers.
She could not solve that mystery just now. She could, however, speak for the dead.
She moved around the room, examining the wounds. “He is not as skilled as Nuallan.”
She heard Miach’s sharp intake of breath and looked up to find the warrior staring at her with something like horror.
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