Dead Magic (30 page)

"That was a bit more curt than I expected you to be," Rorant said.

"I'm tired," Elsie said. Then her focus shifted to the wounded creature at Rorant's feet and she whispered the spell to see the unseen.

Whatever she saw through the vision spell made her frown. Dorian watched as she crouched beside the cat and tensed. Wounded or not, it still had sharp teeth. Elsie stared at it for a long moment, as though she could determine its character just by looking.

"I know that you can understand me, creature," she said. "Can you speak in this form?"

To Winslow's consternation, the cat answered, "Yes."

"Answer me truthfully and I will allow my husband to heal you."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and shared a look with his father. Aside from the fact that he was still trying to accept a talking beast, neither he nor his father wanted to fight the cat again. Winslow's story hadn't mentioned that the people were sentient in this form. Now that he thought about it, he wondered why he hadn't considered them intelligent before. They fought with cunning. They'd even ambushed Winter Tournament.

No,
he thought. He hadn't considered them sentient because he didn't want to. It was far easier to think he'd slain several animals rather than cursed men stuck on the wrong side of the Pillars.

"I do not want healing," the cat said.

"A clean death, then. I can end your suffering," Elsie said and waited for a reply. When none came, she asked, "Does the man known as Voruke still lead you?"

"Still? We have no sense of Time. Voruke leads us."

"Is there no way to parlay with Voruke? Surely you can see there are innocents here," Elsie said.

The cat took several labored breaths before hissing its answer, "You're all a blight . . . You Witches with your stolen Talent . . ."

"Magic gave us our Talent, we didn't steal it. Magic made the Pillars. You must see he was protecting us," Elsie said. "Please, there must be a way for peace."

"Return Magic . . ."

"How?"

But it was too late. The cat's eyes closed and Elsie reached out with her altered arm. She touched its paw and sharp light burst around them. It was so bright Dorian was forced to look away. When he looked back the great cat was gone, replaced by a fur-clad man. Rorant exhaled his surprise. It was one thing to hear the story, it was quite another to see the truth. The man looked like anyone else, dark hair and strong facial features, with rough, strong hands.

"The people of the Wild," Rorant said.

"We have far more similarities than differences," Elsie murmured, closing the man's eyes. "I do wish we could show them that."

Dorian held his tongue. He watched as Elsie inspected the man, her slender fingers passing over the dark fur coat that covered him, moving down the arm and to his exposed hand. Compassion flowed from her, pressing into Dorian's Talent. He wanted to share that compassion, but couldn't.

This creature looked like a man now, but it had fought like an animal. Dorian could still feel several bites and scratches in his own body from the battle and could not find the will to pity the dead thing. He'd always prided himself on being an educated, intelligent man, but even he had his limitations. These were creatures intent on killing them all. They'd rampaged through the assembly, tearing down women and children alike. Elsie couldn't really mean to find peace with the people, could she?

Everything Magic had shown them about the events to come painted a bloody, hopeless future. What peace could be found with such focused hatred?

Elsie rose to her feet again and faced him. Dorian moved closer, cupping her cheek and tilting her head up, but he didn't kiss her. He wanted to. He wanted to make her forget whatever pain had spurred this emotion, but he stopped there and searched her gaze instead. Her eyes burned like molten caramel, begging him to understand.

He didn't, of course. How could he understand? Nothing made sense to him anymore. But he would try. For her, he would try.

"It's true, Dorian. Everything Fayree said is true," she said. "I had hoped it wasn't. For all our sakes. What are we supposed to do against this?"

He glanced down at the dead Wild man. Then he sighed, looked back to Elsie and kissed her hand. "We do what Magic created us for. We protect the Untalented."

She looked away from him. Dorian followed her gaze, noting that they were the only ones left. The overturned fountain lay in quickly chilling mud and only the dead cats littered the ground. None of the council had deigned it necessary to investigate their attackers and none of the Untalented were brave enough to remain. He spotted two Warders at the yard entrance, but they appeared to be standing guard, keeping watch over Rorant.

"We should go," Rorant said. "You did give the people only an hour to get to the dirigible."

"Wait," Dorian said. "Where is Winslow?"

Elsie's brow furrowed and she started to search the ground. "Valeda came to my aid. I remember firing my pistol at one of the cats, but after that . . . I'm sorry, but I don't know what happened."

"Perhaps they're already at the ship?" Rorant suggested.

"No, Winslow wouldn't leave without us," Dorian said.

***

They didn't have time to search. Elsie could feel the threat of the Wild pounding against the borders, cracking down the Pillars. They had to get to the ship and head for Delgora. But the panic on Dorian's face made her wait. She would normally require a salt circle and several candles to perform a summoning spell, but they had neither, so she was determined to go without. Both were meant to enhance the range of her magic anyway and Winslow couldn't have gotten far.

Elsie moved to the center of the stage and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she focused inward, touching the core of her Talent and calling it to life. It answered, as it always did, and she felt the wind pick up around her.

"I, Elsie Varene Delgora, call for Magic to my side," she said clearly.

Then she asked Magic to show her where Winslow was.

She opened her eyes to gaze at the whirlwind of snow surrounding her. An image formed in the midst of it, showing Winslow and Valeda being pulled out of what looked to be a cave. Valeda was unconscious, her limp form draped over someone's shoulder. Winslow, however, was awake. His hands were bound and the men around him prodded at him with swords and sticks.

He looked up as the image focused on him.

"Elsie?" Winslow whispered.

She knew he could sense her observation. But she also knew he couldn't converse with her. To do that would require him managing a summoning spell of his own and, at present, he couldn't stop. He was being led somewhere and she could sense he was in the Wild.

"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why would they take them?"

"Who took them?" Dorian asked from outside her circle.

"Who is 'them'?" Rorant asked.

"Valeda and Winslow," Elsie said. "They've been taken into the Wild."

"What?" Anguish filled Dorian's voice. "How?"

She dropped the circle and turned to face him. "They're still alive, Dorian. Focus on that for now."

"But-"

"We must get to the ark. There are too many lives at stake." Elsie moved to take his hand. "We will find a way to help them, I promise. But there is nothing we can do right now."

Valeda woke to the sensation of falling. Her body was pitched off the shoulders of some giant of a man and she opened her eyes just in time to see the ground rushing up at her. She tried to pull her hands forward to catch herself, but discovered they were bound at her back. She hit chest first, her chin knocking against the pebbly ground hard enough that she felt the impact through her jaw. She craned her head to the side in defense and her cheek scraped through dirt.

When her body finally slid to a stop, she groaned. Her shoulder flared to agonizing life, piercing her consciousness with pain. She was lying half on top of the wound and squirmed in a desperate attempt to turn over. Flopping onto her back crushed her bound hands, but some of the pain lessened. She lay there, dizzily gazing up at a leafy canopy, and tried to coach herself into thinking properly.

"Vee?" Winslow leaned over her, peering down in concern. "Vee, are you all right?"

It was a truly stupid question to ask. The aching throb in her shoulder had her hissing and the fact that her hands were bound told her of their predicament. They were prisoners. Of whom or what she didn't know yet, but given the unfamiliar landscape and equally unfamiliar men huddled in a circle nearby, Valeda had a sinking suspicion they weren't in Magnellum anymore.

"No," she whispered up at him. "No, I am
not
all right."

Winslow frowned and glanced at their captors.

"Why haven't they killed us?" she asked.

He looked back down at her. His hands were bound as well and his face was bruised from battle. He couldn't hide the fear in his hazel-green eyes and Valeda felt an icy knot form in her gut. They stared at each other for a long moment and Valeda could sense his painful recognition of the situation. Something inside her echoed the warning she felt from him.

Death was too easy for them. They weren't just Talented, they were also Wild. They were something different, something new, and if there was one thing that frightened all people, it was change.

Movement among their captors forced her attention away from Winslow. A new man had joined the group. He wore dark furs and heavy necklaces laden with many claws and teeth. He stood a good head taller than the rest of the men and had the stance and build of a fighter. Valeda was at once impressed and intimidated by the cold black gaze the man sent their way. He was bald and scarred and his features were dramatically angled, like some potter had allowed the clay to partially dry before shaping his face.

"Who is that?" Valeda whispered.

"I imagine that would be Voruke," Winslow said flatly.

"Who?"

"Voruke," Winslow repeated. "Remember? Hates all Untalented. Wants to see us dead."

"And how do you know it's him?" she asked.

"Just a wild guess," Winslow said and smiled wryly at her.

Exhaustion threatened to take her but Valeda forced her muddled brain to concentrate. If they were on the outside of the Pillars, did that mean they were outside of Time, too?

"That's strange," she said quietly. "I don't feel any different out here."

Winslow bent down and she drew a surprised breath, thinking he meant to kiss her again. But he didn't. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. She felt her Talent surge to life at the contact, felt her wound quickly begin to mend.

"Try not to cry out," he whispered to her. "They'll notice."

Valeda bit back a whimper and grit her teeth. Her flesh pulled back together, her muscles rebinding themselves where they had been torn. Pulsing between them was the force of their magic, invisible and constant, reveling in the mere fact that they were together. She focused on that instead, remembering their stolen kiss on her balcony in Three Points.

He withdrew a moment later. "Hide it until we can run," he said quietly.

A foot shot out and kicked him in the chest. Valeda shouted in protest as Winslow fell away from her. She tried to move, to turn and see him, but strong arms yanked her up. She was flung over a fur-clad shoulder and had to crane her neck to see Winslow again. She watched as he was kicked in the stomach and growled in fury. She wiggled and squirmed, kicking her feet in an effort to break free, but nothing she did seemed to faze her captor.

She was marched into a large clearing full of people. At the center stood a massive, gnarled tree that seemed to twist around itself. Its leafless limbs looked distorted and sick, clawing up at the sky in an abnormal and disturbing way. Valeda ceased her struggle and stared, stupefied, at both its size and malevolent bearing.

The Host tree
, she thought.

She was still staring when she was tossed into the middle of the assembly. This time she was prepared and curled her body, hitting the ground on her side instead of her face. Winslow was shoved to his knees beside her. He spit blood off to the side and muttered a curse, grimacing in anger and pain.

"Behold! Behold my people! The abominations!" the man, Voruke, said from the front of the crowd. His arms spread wide in his proclamation and the great diseased tree stood stark black behind him.

Valeda was shocked by the title, but knew Voruke meant them. Voruke pointed at Winslow, vehemently continuing his speech, "Long have we suffered the plague of Magnellum, but now they seek to harness the Wild itself. Can you smell it on them? Hiding under their skin, twisted by their magic!"

The crowd seemed to snarl at them. They looked very similar to Magnellum denizens, if slightly better in build and height. These people had the lithe, trim grace of the creatures she knew dwelt inside them. All of them had long braided hair stretching down to their thighs and they wore furs of varying color. They were all quite beautiful in a sharp, exotic way and Valeda was almost saddened by the unified hatred they sent her direction.

Her general terror overcame that emotion very quickly.

"But we will suffer no longer!" Voruke shouted. "Tomorrow the Pillars will fall! Tomorrow we will tear Magnellum to the ground and erase its people from the world!"

The crowd cheered at this, rallying to the battle cry. Valeda pushed herself to her knees and glanced at Winslow's grim expression. He was staring at something beside Voruke and she forced herself to look. A strange woven basket lay just steps from the Wild man's feet. It looked innocuous enough, but even she could sense the danger emanating from it.

Somewhere close by, drums began to beat. She could feel their deep rhythm reverberate through the ground and into her chest. It was slow at first, punctuating Voruke's words as he continued to shout at the people, building them all up to something.

"Whatever happens . . ." Winslow started quietly. He stopped himself and she turned to look at him. He met her gaze and held it before continuing. "Whatever happens now, I need you to know . . ."