The Wizards' War

by Angela Holder

  The Matriarch closed her eyes and went limp. Vigorre laid his hands on the blood-soaked sheet at either side of the sword’s entry point and focused on the information Nirre poured into his senses. For a moment he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise, as the chaotic sour wrongness of the Matriarch’s wound nearly overwhelmed him. But then he located the cinnamon-scented blue swirl of the child’s life, a faint undulating shriek indicating its distress, but the fierce pulse hammering against his palms testifying that it had not yet passed beyond the reach of the Mother’s power.

  Vigorre gulped and forced his breathing to slow. He was still very new at this. The sensation of so much trauma filled him with panic. He wished desperately for Elkan’s calm voice to guide him. What would the master wizard tell him to do?

  Long before he’d bonded to Nirre he’d watched and listened as Elkan explained how the Mother’s power worked through him and Tobi to heal his patients. Though at the time Vigorre had believed the power came from a demonic source, he’d been fascinated despite himself. He’d known even then that Elkan expected he would be chosen as a wizard and was beginning his training. Now he tried desperately to remember everything he’d heard.

  Focus on one sense at a time. Vigorre teased the confusing jumble of sensations apart. Sourness so intense it was almost bitter, where cold metal invaded warm flesh. A deep grating whine, clashing discordantly with the baby’s higher pitched note. The scent of heavy floral perfume on the edge of going rancid. Criss-crossing cold steel knife blades pressing into his skin. Swirls of red and yellow and green and purple, with a hollow dark void where the lifeless metal lay.

  Nirre spoke in his mind. She’ll bleed more when the blade comes out.

  We’ll have to be ready to stop it. He concentrated on the sword’s path. It had entered to one side of the spine, grazed a kidney, and continued into the abdominal cavity. There. Brown-gray sewage leaked into the rainbow swirls. He swallowed against the foul taste. Her intestines are cut open. He was sure he remembered Elkan saying something about that being very bad, that the intestines were filled with tiny living creatures that caused bodies to sicken and die when the walls that kept them in their proper place were breached.

  The Mother’s power can heal it, Nirre assured him. She shifted her weight on his shoulder, peering at the Matriarch’s body and the protruding sword. How far in does it go?

  Vigorre followed the emptiness to where it narrowed to a point. He cursed, though what he discovered was no surprise, with the baby’s distress continuing to ring in his mind. Into her womb. Just the tip, but it sliced the edge of the…what do you call it, where the baby is attached…

  The word continued to elude him, although he was sure Elkan had once named all the relevant parts when they’d been tending a pregnant woman. The baby floated in the hollow space inside the womb, enclosed by a bubble-like membrane filled with liquid. Where its cord and the edges of the membrane met the wall of the womb, a spongy mass of tissue anchored the child to its mother. He could see the swirling blue rushes where blood from woman and baby intermingled without mixing. He could hear the sighing gurgle and feel the trickle of escaping blood where the tip of the sword had nicked the—whatever it was called. Eventually it would become the afterbirth, he remembered Elkan saying.

  If this child survived long enough to be born.

  Vigorre set his jaw and moved one hand to the sword hilt. I’ll draw it out little by little. You heal the damage from the inside out.

  He felt Nirre’s consent to the plan. He took a deep breath and eased the sword out a fraction of an inch, wincing as the flow of blood from the damaged structure increased, the baby’s cinnamon scent took on burnt undertones, and the pulse against his palms weakened. Quick…

  Nirre sent more of the Mother’s power pouring into the wound. Rapidly, though not fast enough for Vigorre, the structure mended. The leaking blood slowed and stopped. For a moment a clotted pool formed between the wall of the womb and the structure, but it shrank and vanished. The structure adhered firmly to the womb again. The baby’s heartbeat strengthened and slowed, the awful shriek faded, and the scent returned to its normal pleasant spiciness.

  Vigorre withdrew another bit of sword. Nirre set the Mother’s power to work on the Matriarch’s womb, rebuilding the severed layers of muscle fibers. When that was complete, they moved on to the damaged intestine, sealing it closed and speeding to their death the many faint sparkles of life that remained outside, spending a good long time to be sure they got them all.

  Almost done. The small cut in the surface of the kidney healed quickly and cleanly. Vigorre pulled the sword clear and dropped it on the floor as Nirre accelerated the healing of muscle and skin.

  He mopped blood from around the scar that remained when the golden light faded, then pulled the cut edge of the sheet over the Matriarch’s naked flesh. He looked up to find the other wizards and Lord Renarre watching.

  Before he could speak, the Matriarch rolled over and sat up, clutching the sheet to her breast. She put a hand on her belly. “My daughter,” she demanded. “Does she live?”

  “Yes,” Vigorre assured her. “Your child is alive and healthy. There was a slight injury to the—” He waved his hands in frustration. “I don’t remember what it’s called. But we healed it, along with your own wounds. You should both be fine.”

  Lord Renarre let out an explosive breath. He’d pulled on some breeches, Vigorre noticed. How long had he and Nirre been working? Not long, he thought, though it might have been hours from how drained he felt.

  The Matriarch closed her eyes and rubbed her abdomen in slow circles. “Thank the Mother.”

  Suddenly she opened her eyes and fixed Vigorre with a piercing stare. “Is my child female?”

  Fear clenched in Vigorre’s stomach. What should he say? Last time Elkan had answered her honestly and set off a disastrous chain of events. He’d warned the rest of the wizards what they must do, but Vigorre didn’t know if the Matriarch would tolerate that sort of defiance.

  But he had little choice. If he told her the truth, that he hadn’t looked, and might not even have known how to tell the difference so early if he had, she’d insist he look again, and continue to check in the coming days and weeks until he was certain. The only way to avoid her demands was to establish from the beginning that he refused to bend to her will.

  He met her gaze as levelly as he imagined Elkan would have. “I won’t tell you.”

  She drew herself up. Even seated on the floor, wrapped in a torn and blood-stained sheet, the force of her presence hit Vigorre like a blow. “Don’t think you can defy me the way the Tevenaran did,” she spat. “You’re a citizen of Ramunna, one of my subjects. You will answer my question.”

  Vigorre put his hand up to touch Nirre, fighting to keep it from shaking. “I’m a wizard,” he told her. “I answer to the Mother. Master Elkan forbade us to tell you the sex of any child you might conceive.”

  “Your Master Elkan lied to me and tricked me into killing my own daughter.” The Matriarch scrambled to her feet. “Now here you are, in company with your Marvannan friends. But this time you failed—”

  “Verinna,” Lord Renarre said urgently, putting a hand on her arm. “Look around. The wizards weren’t helping the Marvannans. They fought them.”

  The Matriarch opened her mouth, but stopped, her forehead creasing. She gave Renarre a searching look, then raked the rest of the room with her gaze. She took in the disabled Marvannans, lying stoically where they’d fallen, returning her glance with looks of bitter loathing. She studied the still form of her guard and his sword lying at her feet, its blade bloody. Raising her eyes, she noted each of the wizards in turn, how all of them stood unrestrained, hands on their familiars. She swallowed.

  “Where are the rest of my guards?” she asked in nearly her normal imperious tones.

  Renarre stepped over the traitorous guard and swung the door open. Three motionless bodies sprawled in the hallway outside. “It looks lik
e Gashonne killed the others before they could raise the alarm.”

  He started to close the door, but Borlen stepped forward, putting out a hand to stop him. “Let us make sure.”

  Shadow slithered to his side and rose to meet his hand. Gold light flowed out to touch each body in turn. Borlen sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.” He stepped back and inclined his head to Renarre.

  Renarre eyed the snake in trepidation, but moved past him to firmly shut the door. “You don’t need me to spell out what happened, Verinna.”

  Vigorre bit his lip. “We’ve never been your enemies, your Majesty. None of us were ever in league with the Marvannans.” He took a deep breath and forced himself not to drop his eyes. “Until three months ago, I was secretly working with Yoran Lirolla and the Purifiers. I witnessed him make a bargain with the Dualists. They planned to overthrow your rule and deliver Ramunna to the Marvannans. They’re the ones who sent Nirel to lie about what the wizards had done. They’re the ones your wise woman Yerenna was working for all along. She made sure none of your other children survived, and she lied to you about the child you—the child that died. Elkan told you the truth; it was a boy. The Purifiers and Dualists tricked you into thinking the wizards had deceived you.”

  The Matriarch’s face paled, but her regal bearing never faltered. She glanced at the other wizards, then back at Vigorre. “Why?” she asked quietly. “Do you know the rest of their plan?”

  Vigorre clenched his fists. “They wanted you to send the Armada against Tevenar. Three weeks ago—we’ve been spying on them, we heard Elder Davon say he sent the message—they alerted their contact in Marvanna, someone close to the Autarch, that the blockade is at less than half strength. They believe the Autarch will seize the opportunity to attack us.”

  The Matriarch swallowed hard. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer as she surveyed the fallen assassins. “This was part of their plot as well?”

  “That’s right.” Vigorre gestured to Gashonne’s still form. “The Purifiers gave the Dualists information about the secret way into the palace. They passed it to the Marvannans. Three days ago Kevessa overheard the confirmation that the assassination attempt was underway. We’ve been waiting to intercept them ever since. Tonight we spotted them and followed them into the secret passage.”

  “Ah.” The Matriarch nodded, her eyebrows going up. “Now I understand. You didn’t stop them outside the palace, or on the way through the passages. You followed them here so I would see what you did. You wanted to regain my trust.”

  Vigorre couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. He dropped his eyes. “Yes, your majesty.”

  Renarre took a step forward. “You risked Verinna’s life to prove your innocence? His voice had a dangerous edge. “That’s supposed to make her trust you?” He eyed Kevessa and Nina. “I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t demons.”

  The Matriarch shook her head impatiently. “Renarre, think. There are four of them standing there with their beasts. They could kill us both right now if they wanted, and there’s nothing we could do to stop them.”

  Instead of reassuring Renarre, her words made him stiffen and glare at the wizards. “They’d have to go through me to get to you.”

  She waved his protest away with a dismissive hand. “Of course they would, but they could, don’t you see? Yet instead, they healed me.” Her hand caressed her belly. “And our child.”

  “So they say.” But his voice was uncertain, and his eyes flicked down to the bloody sword. Vigorre knew he’d seen it sunk deep into his wife’s back. “This could all have been staged. None of the Marvannans are dead; neither is Gashonne. All of them could be part of a plot to restore your faith in the wizards.”

  “That’s possible.” The Matriarch retrieved her sword from where it had fallen and strode to stand over Gashonne, who was blinking as he slowly regained consciousness. She cut his throat with a swift slash. Blood splattered her legs and pooled around her bare feet. “But they couldn’t have expected to survive, even if the wizards spared them.”

  She stepped toward the nearest Marvannan, gesturing curtly for Renarre to deal with another. Vigorre’s stomach lurched. “Your Majesty, stop!” he blurted.

  She paused, eyeing him with smugly ruthless satisfaction. “You admit, then, that these are your allies? Why else would you want me to allow enemies of Ramunna to live?”

  “No, I swear!” Vigorre cast a frantic glance at the others.

  Kevessa stepped toward her, spreading her hands. “The Mother won’t allow us to use her power to kill except as a last resort. They’re no threat to you anymore.”

  The Marvannan attempted to roll away, an agonized grunt escaping between clenched teeth as his damaged hip ground into the floor. The Matriarch stepped on his shoulder to force him flat and thrust the point of her rapier into his throat. “The Mother’s power isn’t needed. Renarre and I will deal with them.”

  “At least question them first,” Vigorre protested, as Renarre swiftly dealt with two more prone Marvannans.

  “Useless.” The Matriarch approached the Marvannan Vigorre recognized as their leader. “They won’t talk quickly. Long slow torture would break them in time, but their masters will have ensured they don’t know any information worth the effort.”

  “True,” the Marvannan leader growled. He heaved himself onto one elbow and raked her body with a leer. “But I have a message for you from the Autarch. Ramunna is ours. Your puny Armada is doomed. Even as we left the fleet, they launched the attack. It’s convenient you chose to split your forces and give us an easy victory, but we were already planning to move against you. Do you think Ramunnans are the only ones who can invent new weapons?”

  The Matriarch tensed, staring at him, her fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword. “The Secret cannot be defeated.”

  “You fool!” The Marvannan’s laughter was interspersed with gasps as the movement jarred his injury. “Your Secret is what makes your ships so vulnerable. You’ll see for yourself before daybreak. Now give me the clean death I’ve earned.” He licked his lips and looked her up and down. “Unless you’d rather have one of those tame demons of yours fix up my leg. I’ll show you how a real man makes a woman screa—”

  The Matriarch’s sword cut off his words in a gurgle of blood an instant before Renarre’s pierced his chest. They moved with ruthless efficiency to finish off the rest of the helpless assassins.

  Vigorre backed out of their way, sickened by the cold-blooded slaughter. Nirre, should we stop them? I don’t know what the Law requires. If we try they’ll be sure we’re on the Marvannans’ side, and more guards are bound to show up any minute…

  The eagle watched Renarre dispatch a captive with impassive yellow eyes. I will stop them if you ask it of me. But I will do nothing if you choose not to act.

  The Mother considered this a matter for his free will, then. His bond was in no danger, whichever way he chose. The Marvannans had been engaged in an attempt at politically-motivated murder. Surely they deserved death. Surely they’d undertaken their mission with the understanding that this might be their fate, and the willingness to accept that risk.

  Still, vomit rose into the back of his throat as the Matriarch casually cut another throat. He swallowed hard, looking around at the other wizards. Kevessa was pale, clutching Nina to her chest, her eyes squeezed closed. Borlen watched in grim approval. Shadow seemed to mirror his attitude, though neither made any move to assist.

  Tesi huddled on the floor, her face pressed into Mimi’s side, weeping softly. Vigorre shook off his numb horror and went to crouch beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. “It’s all right,” he muttered, hating the lie.

  She raised a tear-streaked face. “Those who practice the Art are forbidden to kill. For any reason, even to save our own lives.”

  “You didn’t.” Vigorre moved to shield her from seeing the ongoing slaughter.

  “Yet two men have died because of my actions.” Her voice
had a dull quality that made Vigorre shiver.

  “Because of their own actions,” he said forcefully, aware he was attempting to persuade himself as much as Tesi. “Anyone who tries to kill the Matriarch knows what will happen if they fail.”

  She shook her head. “They might have fled, had I not required Mimi to hold them motionless. And I did not protest when Nina and Shadow damaged their bodies, even though that also I have sworn not to do. The Marvannans bear responsibility for their crimes, but I bear responsibility for mine.”

  “Mimi wouldn’t have done it if it were against the Mother’s will,” Vigorre told her. The Matriarch and Lord Renarre dispatched the last of the Marvannans and moved purposefully across the room. “And she would break your bond if you did something the Mother considered wrong. But she didn’t, so—”

  Tesi yanked away and glared at him. “I do not acknowledge the Mother. I do not care what she forbids or permits. I judge my actions by my own conscience, guided by the teachings of the Great Sage. And it tells me that tonight I acted wrongly.” She gathered Mimi in her arms and climbed to her feet, looking around at the dead bodies with an anguished but unflinching expression. “I have learned a new truth about the proper and improper use of the power I now command. I will not make the same error again.”

  This was going to complicate things if the wizards had to fight again. But for the moment it didn’t matter. “I’ll do my best not to put you in a situation where you might need to.” Or where other people’s lives might be put at risk by her unwillingness to get her hands dirty. “Are you going to be all right?”

  She gathered her usual quiet composure around herself. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Vigorre rose and turned toward the Matriarch, trying to figure out what to do next. “Your Majesty, perhaps we should—”

  She cut him off with a forceful gesture. She’d wrapped herself in a loose robe of heavy Girodan silk. “The four of you will accompany me to the terrace.” She strode to a tall, richly inlaid cabinet, opened it, and removed a leather case from a shelf. “If what the Marvannan said is true, I’m going to need your help.”