Nor Iron Bars A Cage (13 page)

I pulled my hand free, and pinned the towel with my forearm while I rubbed it dry. “You were telling me the king had agreed? Will he come here? I made it very safe.”

“No, Lyon, you know that. He’s the king. You go to him, he won’t come to you. But the court was just for introduction. He didn’t much care. Where he really wants you is after sixth bell, in his sorcerer’s workrooms.”

“Doing what?” My voice rose. “I don’t do sorcery any more. He knows that, right? You told him?”

“I didn’t have to. He doesn’t want a sorcerer but a translator. I don’t think he even knows whether you finished your apprenticeship. Whatever he wants you to translate is there, I think. Be calm.”

“I am calm.” The absurdity of that made me giggle helplessly, and after a moment he laughed too. Oddly, it helped a lot.

“Well, I’m looking forward to getting this over with,” I said, determinedly cheerful. I’d had time already to gibber in panic, then bemoan my idiocy, and then pursue the meditation of work. I
was
better. “And maybe I’ll get a look at the castle libraries, before I go home. That could make the trip worthwhile.”

Tobin gave me a warm, pleased smile. I’d have done a lot for that look. He went to the other room and returned with two cups. “Here. Drink something.”

I lifted it and smelled ale. “I should keep a clear head.”

“I watered it. You need to wet your voice.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, but drank obediently. He was right. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was until that cool liquid went down it. “Blessed Na, that’s good.”

“Finish it fast. The bell will ring soon. We have to go.”

I’d barely emptied the cup before he was taking it from my hand, his brow furrowed. “We need to head out now. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He reached to adjust the collar of my shirt, where I’d tugged it open in search of air to breathe. The back of his hand barely brushed my chin in passing, but it felt like a caress.
I will not lean into that.
I froze, not moving a muscle as he tidied me.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” He glanced around the room. “You did all this work.”

“It wasn’t really for the king. I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid. I knew he wouldn’t come here.” Although some craven part of me might have hoped. “Once we’re done, I’ll sleep sounder, knowing the wards are there.”

“Ah. Good thought.”

“His sorcerer’s rooms will be warded anyway,” I told him, and myself. “Probably better wards than anything I can devise. Almost certainly.” I’d made a study of runes of protection in the last fifteen years, but the Royal Mages were wise and learned men, and had access to far more resources. “It will be safe there.”

“Right.” He gave me a firm nod. “So, shall we go?”

I nodded back, but it still took a long moment, as he held the door open, before I crossed back over that threshold.

The nighttime castle had a different feel. With the evening meal over, and many of the inhabitants retired to their chambers, the halls were emptier and more businesslike. Most of the people passing had a pressing reason to be out, and we garnered no more than a glance or two. Tobin led me across, up, and then down. And down, and down, and down.

It made sense that the sorcerers’ workrooms would be underground. Even Meldov’s had been, as defense against sunlight ever disrupting a fragile working. Here there would be vast cellars anyway, for storage and provisions. There would be room for a dozen of Meldov’s rooms, and more to spare. But it still felt like the air got thicker and harder to breathe with each staircase we descended.

To distract myself I said, “I’d have thought they’d use the mages’ tower to work.”

“Apparently not. If you have the stones, you can ask them why.”

I shook my head hard.
Really not that interested.
Although the curiosity would nag at me later, no doubt. At the bottom of the third flight, we were challenged by a pair of guards. Tobin had to show his pendant and give his name to pass. At the bottom of the fourth, there was another pair. Those knew him by sight and passed him on.

“The king’s security has been tighter than usual for weeks,” Tobin commented to me, as we finally, blessedly, turned left down a corridor instead of taking another flight of steps. “He’s worried about something.”

At the double doors at the end of the hall, two more guards waited. The doors were shut, and I could see runes of power and warding written across them. They looked as though they were inlaid with admagnium, perhaps mixed with silver. Either for show or because it augmented their strength. Meldov had never used admagnium for much. He’d hoarded it though, as a sign of wealth and against some future plan. The only working I’d seen made with it was the handcuffs on the wall…

I paused and took three slow breaths, while Tobin hovered beside me. If I let every glimpse of admagnium overset me, we would no doubt be in for a long night. The King’s Mages could surely afford to use the stuff at will. I took another breath and began walking again. They were impressive doors, all right.

The guards there didn’t challenge us either, but they rapped on the doors rather than opening them. There was a long wait. Personally, I’d have either knocked again or left, but apparently you didn’t do that to kings. When I reflected that there were an unknown number of powerful sorcerers in there too, I decided I could stand waiting.

We sorcerers aren’t able to kill a man with a glare or set your liver on fire with a gesture, like the mages of legend, but we’re nasty, sneaky infighters in a realm where information is a weapon. I did
not
want someone raising Meldov and asking him how he died.

Eventually one of the doors opened and a dour, older man beckoned us inside. I let Tobin take the lead and followed at his shoulder.

Although the room was a dozen times the size of Melov’s, it looked familiar. The protective wards were painted on the walls, not inlaid after all, and I couldn’t help checking them all for accuracy and completeness, turning on my heel to look behind me too. When I finished my circuit, I realized everyone was staring at me. A tall, thin man with greying hair cleared his throat meaningfully at me, with a superior glare at my antics. “Your attention, sir?”

The smaller man beside him said, “I want speed, not ceremony.” I looked at him, and realized I was face to face with my king.

I dropped to my knees, and Tobin did the same, with less speed and more grace. King Faro the Second eyed me for a long moment. I wanted to lower my eyes, and couldn’t. I didn’t speak either. It was one thing to have mouthed off to him in my mind, in the safety of my rooms. It was altogether a different thing to consider here, under the stare of his intense amber eyes, with the King’s Mages beside him. I could almost feel all the power in the room, and none was mine.

King Faro said, without preamble, “I hear you can translate from ancient
kanshishel.
”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What about the hill tribes, the
tridescant
they use?”

“I know a little of the modern tongue. A lot more of the ancient one.”

“It’s the ancient that I need.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Get up, Lyon of Riverrun, and let’s begin.”

I stood, but in horror heard myself say, “Not of Riverrun anymore, my liege.”

Luckily he was more curious than offended. “Of where then?”

Of a tiny stone house, locked away on the edge of a small village, far from the next town.
“Of nowhere.”

He frowned. “Very well. Come along.” He and the man— the sorcerer, now that I noted his manner— went across the room to a workspace. Against the back wall, the altar to Na was simple, with a single candle in a glass chimney. The floor was tiled in white marble, slightly roughened to take a mark. A spellworking was laid out on the floor. A summoning. I checked the power vectors and saw they were going after someone, or something, very, very old. I shuddered.

“My liege. Your Majesty, I don’t do summonings.”

He glanced at me. “My sorcerers will do the summoning, of course. I need you to listen and translate. Tobin?”

“Yes, sir?”

He actually smiled at Tobin. It bothered me, even more when Tobin smiled back the same way.

“There’s paper and pens on that table. Keep a record of everything your friend says. We may not get many more chances to call up this shade.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hugged myself, aware my hands were starting to shake. It was only partly to delay things, though, when I said, “Your Majesty, if I’m to translate for a ghost, with time of the essence, the more I know ahead of time, the more sharp and accurate my words will be.”
Translate for a ghost. Na, Lord of Magic, protect me from my own folly.
I fervently hoped these tall austere men with their fine clothes and cool eyes knew what in the hells they were doing. I clung to the thought that at least it would not be me in any of the points of the working.

King Faro said slowly, “I suppose that’s fair. But…” He looked at Tobin. “Captain, you vouch for this man? Completely and on your life?”

“I do, sir.”

He turned to me. “This is a matter of state secrets, in deadly earnest. You must swear to tell no one, not your wife, not your mother on her deathbed, not the mentor your revere.”

“I’ve none of those now, Your Majesty.” When his glare turned molten hot, I added, “I swear, my liege.”

He nodded and then gestured at the cluster of guards in the room. Most of them went to the doors and all but two stepped out, pulling the doors shut behind them.

King Faro said, “This secret is known only to those in this room and my trusted generals. We may soon be under attack.”

I flinched, but bit back my question.

“The Prince Regent of R’gin is massing an army. He’s pretending it’s to attack the Falday to his east, but supplies are moving in other ways, openly toward the coast, but larger amounts in secret west across his country to the mountains. I have more than enough clues to know we are his most likely target.”

I glanced at Tobin, wondering if he’d known about this and hidden it at his king’s command, but he looked startled. Faro raised an eyebrow at Tobin in silent permission to speak, and Tobin said, “Foolish of him, surely, my liege, after the way the mountain tribes beat each of us to a standstill in the last twenty years. To attack by sea is a long, slow sail against the tradewinds, to attack from our east, he’d have to get through their mountains first, and the tribes will not allow it. I don’t think we have much to worry about, until he actually clears the last range with enough men to still do damage.”

“Ah, but we believe he’s not planning to go over the mountains, but under them.”

Tobin frowned, and clearly restrained whatever skeptical comment had occurred to him.

King Faro said, “Remember the legend of the invasion of the NaR’gin, a millennium ago? The Path of the NaR’gin?”

“I thought that was a legend. An old wives tale.”

I’d thought that too. There were fantastical stories of how the army of the NaR’gin, the Mage-God’s chosen people, suddenly appeared this side of the mountains, on the foothills of our western border. There was no doubt they’d shown up in their thousands, and beaten our unprepared western army. The invasion and conquest had lasted for centuries. Eventually, it had become less invasion and more settlement as they intermarried with us, and R’gin blood was diluted by ours. Darker skin and their smaller stature were still common enough among us.

The various legends claimed that mages of the NaR’gin had transported the entire army by magic on a bridge of air or perhaps a deep tunnel. But every history book I’d read assumed that they’d actually crossed over the mountain passes, in a masking snowstorm or a cloud of illusion at most. The NaR’gin were supposed to have had true mages, who could alter matter with the force of will. But the idea of the Path, a magical tunnel under or over the mountains, was considered aggrandizement and fairytale. The mountains were many miles wide, and towered high. A tunnel would have been magecraft on a whole different level even from creating a stone tower without seams.

The tall man whom I assumed to be Firstmage said, “Well, we’re skeptical of the idea that their mages created a tunnel with magic. Those of us who’ve made a lifelong study of sorcery know that’s probably nonsense. But there are ways to tunnel without magic, possibly with armies of slaves. If we can create a mine with miles of tunnels in the span of a few years, they could dig under the mountains, given time and men. Perhaps their mages helped with ventilation shafts or in other smaller ways, to make the work go faster and let an army move through safely. In those days, we knew far less of the NaR’gin, and had fewer spies there, thinking the mountains were impassable. They could have worked on a tunnel for decades without our ancestors knowing it was more than another silver mine.”

“If there was a simple physical tunnel, wouldn’t they have continued to use it?” Tobin asked. “The whole reason we became separate countries again was because travel between us and R’gin was so hard and long that no one ruler could effectively command both. Or so it’s been assumed. If there’d been an easy road, surely it would’ve been used.”

“Roads go both ways,” King Faro said. “They may have kept its location a secret, for fear of an invasion in return. Perhaps their mages clouded their soldiers’ minds into forgetting where the opening was. And then there was so much turmoil in the years that followed, with the Plague and unrest on our side, and three assassinations and changes of ruler on theirs. Maybe the secret died with someone. Maybe it collapsed. Maybe their mages hid it from the new rulers. There’s no way to know.

“We’ve obviously assumed either it never existed or it was permanently lost, because we all know that nothing has been heard of it for at least nine hundred years. But now there is a whisper that the tunnel of the NaR’gin has been found. On their side. And that they plan to bring another army through it.”

“A whisper? You trust this information, sir?”

“Enough to take it seriously. It came from more than one source, and a good man risked his life in the mountain passes in winter to bring me word of it. I believe that my best agents think it’s real. Which is enough to get my sorcerers to take up work on it. Their approach was to call up ghosts old enough to perhaps know the truth.”