Spellbreaker (38 page)

“Not exactly.” He was fidgeting with his sleeve.

“You're hiding a secret for your man, aren't you?”

“If I were I wouldn't tell you.”

“Oh come on, Nico,” she said playfully, “there shouldn't be any secrets between us.”

“Then you're going to tell me what you learned about Lea?”

“Well, you have me there,” she said quickly before reverting to her playful tone. “Don't look so serious, Nico, this is only gossip.”

“Committing gossip would be serious indeed.”

Francesca rolled her eyes. “You're so stuffy all of a sudden. I wonder what it could be about Rory…”

“Fran, don't we have enough things to worry about? The empire, our daughter's disease, the volcanic deity on the bay who might be Los himself?”

This sobered Francesca enough to erase her smile. “Do you think it's possible whatever is out in the bay is an ancient demon?”

“Whatever destroyed Feather Island was more powerful than any neodemon I have ever seen.”

“But if it truly were an ancient demon, why would it hide? Why attack a tiny fishing village?”

“Could be the first demon to cross? Perhaps the harbinger of the Pandemonium?”

Recognizing the concern in her husband's voice, Francesca made her expression as serious as possible. “Husband, in such a difficult time, I have to ask you a grave question.”

He looked at her, his green eyes concerned.

“Will you promise to consider what I ask carefully before you respond?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Fran, what is it?”

She looked him in the eye, waited a moment, and then asked in her most serious tone, “Rory prefers men?”

Nicodemus looked away.

She laughed. “Oh, it's so cute how you're trying to hide it!”

“Fran, I … This is…”

“Oh, and your Lornish knight, who was standing behind you and looked like he wanted to laugh, but then looked at Rory, it's the two of them then?”

“Fran, there's no reason for you to think Sir Claude—”

“Sir Claude!” she sung out. “How perfect! That is just so cute. It's like something in one of your knightly romances.”

“Fran, in the knightly romances, two men don't—”

“Well they should!” she interrupted. “So, Rory and … Sir Claude … found each other in your service? Hunting neodemons?” She sighed, remembering how she had fallen in love with Nicodemus during the intrigue that surrounded the events of Avel. Now it seemed romantic, but at the time it seemed terrifying and Nicodemus thick-headed.

Well, at least that last part hadn't changed. Much. She sighed again.

“Fran, now let's get this straight—”

“They're not?” she interrupted.

He paused, confused, but then he caught her wordplay and blew out an exasperated breath.

She laughed again, smiled again, once more let herself dip into old memories. “Good for them. Good for them. Oh, but poor Ellen, just when she thought she found a man who was worth the while.” She looked at Nicodemus. “But what's got you all flustered. You don't disapprove, do you?”

“No, no. Of course not. It's only that … I never said … Hypothetically speaking, if a knight and a druid from very traditional Southern cultures were to…” He waved his hand vaguely in a gesture that couldn't possibly have meant “are homosexual” even though that was what he should have been brave enough to say. “… well, they might not want everyone to know about it.”

“Well, that would be true, especially if we were in the South.” She shrugged. “But we're in Ixos.”

He looked exhausted. “Fran, I didn't say anything.”

She suppressed another smile. “Of course you didn't, my love. I am sorry that I pried. You're trying to be a good friend. Age is turning me into a gossiping old crone. I'll stop. I don't know a thing.” But she couldn't stop herself from sighing. “Well then, we had better get ready. I have to get to the Lesser Sacred Pool before Lea or her officers do.” She kissed Nicodemus's hand, but then she had a new thought. “Should we have had someone follow Lea until she gets to the Lesser Sacred Pool?”

“It's only a few hours,” he said. “Until then I'm sure Lea can keep herself out of anything too bloody.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Blood splattered across Thaddeus's sheets and onto Leandra's legs. Dhrun struck another punch across Thaddeus's jaw, another spray of blood.

“That's enough, Dhru,” Leandra said. “Sit him up.”

Dhrun hoisted Thaddeus up and kicked his legs over the edge of the bed. Her four arms became a blur as she released the double shoulder lock and twisted both of Thaddeus's hands behind his back in a double arm lock. This forced Thaddeus to lean forward and cry out in pain. Dhrun looked to Leandra, who shook her head. Reluctantly, the goddess relaxed her grip. He stopped yelling and his face went slack.

Leandra pulled the chair over to him. During the fight, she had forgotten her fatigue and pain. Now they flooded back.

From the hallway came sound of wetly tearing flesh. Leandra looked up and saw that the hallway had dimmed into a net of red light that undulated across the walls. “Damn it, Kai,” Leandra swore and then shuddered. She had wanted to search the bodies. Again she heard the sound of serrated teeth tearing through flesh. He couldn't resist feeding, not now. Nightmarishly, blood trickled across the floor.

With another shudder, Leandra turned back to Thaddeus. He stopped panting long enough to spit. None of his teeth had come out. Yet. “Thad,” she said. “Start talking.”

Dhrun tightened one of her arm locks. “Okay!” he yelled. “I'll talk. I'll talk!” When Dhrun relaxed, he panted a few more times and then raggedly said, “They came a few hours after you did. I didn't hear them. I … I was working on the loveless spell. Then there was a flash. Next thing I was censored and bound. There was a man with a black beard, pale skin, and blue eyes. He made me tell him everything.”

Tears streamed down his face, blood from his nose. “Then he cast the death sentence on my heart. He told me that when you came back, I had to cast a stunning spell on you and that his men would take care of anyone else you brought with you.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Thaddeus shook his head and spat again.

“He was a wizard?”

“Yes, I saw him spellwright Magnus and Numinous.”

“He was from Astrophell, from the empire?”

“Could have been. But he could have been from Starfall.”

“Accent?”

“Nothing distinct.”

“Clothes?”

“A plain blouse and longvest. He looked like a merchant of the Cloud Culture.”

Leandra chewed on her lip. An hour ago she felt through her godspell a spike of confusion and surprise. That had come to pass. But afterward she had felt a great lifting of emotion. There was something here. She just had to find it.

“What else happened?”

Thaddeus shook his head. “Nothing. He said that they'd be watching me. I was to work on your spell like my life depended on getting it done. Then he punched me in the stomach and left.”

“So maybe that's what you needed to become an adequate spellwright.”

“A deadline with grave repercussions?”

“A punch in the stomach.”

“Lea, believe me, I wasn't going to cast the stunning spell on you.”

“Don't, Thad.”

“But Lea, I would never—”

“I saw you reach over your research spell for another one. I know you sold me out.”

“No, no—”

“They gave you the choice of selling me out or dying. I would have done the same to you. I'm not angry.”

“You're not?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea how they found you, whoever they are. I should have anticipated that, or at least warned you.”

She caught her old lover's gaze. His left eye was already swelling. It made him look frail, mortal. But the important thing was the eye contact.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, looking down.

“Thad, look at me.”

At first he glanced up at her. Then he held her gaze. “I'm sorry.” Then his face collapsed like a child's. “Don't kill me.”

If he had been stronger, he would have died rather than sell her out. Not that she would have had the strength to do that. Not for him. But she hadn't been given that choice and he had. So went injustice.

“Thad, were you telling the truth about the loveless spell?”

He nodded vigorously. “Maybe it was the death threat, maybe it was the punch in the gut, but I've never produced finer Numinous prose. It will work, or if it doesn't I'm sure it won't hurt you.”

Leandra considered this and then looked up to Dhrun. The goddess only shrugged. Leandra wondered what Holokai would think, but when she looked to the hallway she saw only blood pooled on the floor.

Quickly she looked back at Thaddeus. Through her godspell she felt that in an hour, most of her future selves were filled with an expansive, uplifting emotion. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more of her future selves felt that victorious emotion and freedom from pain. The more she thought about it, the more this possible future became the only possible future. “Could you still cast that spell on me?”

“I … I could … but I don't know why you would trust me.”

She tapped her temple. “Through my prophetic spell, I can feel that you will not betray me again and that your spell will succeed.”

He looked at her, his face tense.

She nodded. “You're going to cast the loveless spell on me now. If anything goes wrong, Dhrun breaks your neck.”

“B-but…”

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no … I can cast the loveless spell, if that's what you want.”

Leandra gestured to Dhrun, who released Thad. With a lurch and a groan her old lover hugged himself. Leandra gave him a moment before she reached out for him. At first he flinched but then let her take his hands. “From what I have sensed through the godspell, your loveless spell may offer me my only escape from a horrible prophecy. So I'm going to tell you once more, very sincerely, don't let me down.”

His hands were trembling, but his gaze was firm. “I won't.”

“Then let's get to it. Dhrun, watch him. I believe that he is sincere, but if anything happens to me, don't feel any responsibility to make his death quick or painless.”

Dhrun grunted.

Tentatively, Thaddeus stood and walked toward his desk. Leandra sat on his bed and pressed a hand to her aching belly. Her knees groaned with pain. But she could still feel the brave new future. Something in her nature cried out for what the loveless spell would bring. For the first time, she felt the touch of what she would call destiny.

Thaddeus was again moving his hands above his desk, but this time with greater care and more intricate motions.

Again Leandra felt as if she were approaching something fated. But then Thaddeus turned toward her with an invisible spell pinched between his fingers, and she wondered if she had lost her mind. Had the stress hormones deranged her thoughts? She hadn't felt this strange future emotion until she had started the steroids. And this sensation of destiny …

“Wait, Thad, am I sounding sane?”

“I-I … I think so.”

Leandra exhaled, annoyed. What else would he say after being beaten half to death? She looked to Dhrun. The goddess seemed to think something over before saying, “You don't seem affected by that medicine, if that's your concern.”

Leandra balled her hands into fists, again felt the pain in her gut. Once more she thought about the glorious uplifting future, then nodded to Thaddeus.

“Please,” he said, “lie down.”

Obeying, Leandra took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Pain squirmed in her chest. The disease flare rekindling? She closed her eyes as Thaddeus leaned over her.

“Hold very still. Very still.”

She felt his hands stir the air above her face, heard him shifting weight. In the hallway, Holokai was biting, biting.

Nothing happened.

Long moments passed. Leandra felt Thad's hands move away, heard him step over to the desk. She took another deep breath and noticed that the pain was still there, but no worse. “How much longer?”

“Not long,” Thad replied. “Well, not long for such a complicated spell.”

Leandra chewed her lip and tried to relax. At last Holokai stopped making the horrible noise in the hallway. Leandra heard the irregular, heavy thud of his feet. The door creaked and the shark god asked, in a blood-drunk voice, what had happened. Dhrun explained. Then silence fell again. Lea tried to count to one hundred but only made it to eighty before again asking, “How much longer?”

“Just … a moment.”

Thad's hands returned to her face. She started counting again. Around forty her irritation grew. By sixty she wondered if she should ask again. But then she realized that she was counting more and more slowly. Was it sixty she had reached or eighty? Or was she still on forty? Intoxication washed over her.

The room had gone silent. She tried to ask what was happening but could not seem to make her mouth work. She was not breathing, but she did not want for air. Now that she listened for it, she realized that her heart was no longer beating.

A thrill of fear then. Had Thaddeus killed her? She remembered her mother's stories of how the Savanna Walker had deprived her of all sensation, the horror of a mind in isolation, of how Francesca had raged against the Creator at that time. Was that what had happened to Leandra now?

But then Leandra felt the air slowly flowing into her chest, a sudden two-noted thud. Her heart beat, impossibly slow. A vision of tattered curtains pierced through the sliver that she had cracked between her upper and lower eyelid. The motion of her human blood was suspended; she saw in perfect detail the fiber of the tattered curtains, stars just starting to shine through the dimming sky. The brightest star was being circled by a small, pockmarked moon.