Spellbreaker (69 page)

Midnight was near and the jungle would have been black if it weren't for her guards' torches. As it was, her party illuminated the understory of trees and vines. Jungle insects made their whirring racket and every variety of winged bug swarmed around the torches.

Lotannu had suggested they establish a fort on the headlands. It would not be an easy task—the slopes being steep, the jungle thick—however, if the pyromancers could build cannons to fire across the strait, the empire would control the bay. Vivian had insisted on inspecting the best possible sites for the fort.

At last her party emerged from the trees into a clearing. Before them the moonlight fell on the strait's fast-moving currents. The camp consisted of thirty tents surrounded by wooden walls. Several sentries called challenges from the gates and someone in Vivian's party replied with the correct passwords. Soon Vivian walked into her wide tent.

She sat heavily on an uncomfortable but sturdy chair and rubbed her eyes. She had trouble falling asleep after the previous night's failed attack. Once she had finally drifted off, she had been taunted by vivid dreams of leading her forces into a conquered Chandralu. She woke frustrated and vowing to break the city's defenses.

A tent flap peeled back to reveal Lotannu. He bowed.

“What news?” she asked while motioning for him to sit beside her.

Lotannu sat with a grateful sigh. “The Southern reinforcements are integrated with the city's other deities. It's not known how badly the fires damaged the city's ability to resist. Among our forces, morale suffered from losing the two galleys to the wildfire deities. We did, however, capture a convoy of merchant boats on the Matrunda River, so we should be able to increase rations. Half the men we put ashore with cholera have succumbed but there have been no new cases reported in the fleet.”

“Does Chandralu have enough food to withstand an extended blockade?”

“Possibly.”

“That would make a headland fort all the more important.”

“It would; however, there may be another solution.”

“Oh?”

“There are a substantial number of dissidents in Chandralu.”

“Less than happy about being enslaved by a reincarnated Los, are they?”

“Just after sunset, one of the hierophantic scouts south of the city discovered a lone traveler flagging him down. She claimed to represent Chandralu's dissidents. He flew her back to the fleet and then to this camp.”

“And?”

“I could tell you my conclusions after interviewing her, but my guess is that you'd like to hear what she has to say.”

“Indeed. When do I get to meet her?”

“As soon as you like.”

Vivian rose and smoothed out her robes. “Send her in.”

Lotannu nodded and then stepped out of the tent. A few moments later, he returned with two guards. Between them stood a short women dressed in a wizard's black robes. While Lotannu and the guards bowed to Vivian, the newcomer only fixed her with a level stare.

“So then,” Vivian asked, “who are you?”

“My name,” the traitor said in a flat voice, “is Magistra Ellen D'Valin.”

*   *   *

Nicodemus woke with a racing heart, sat up in a strange bed covered by a mosquito net. He was sure one of his teeth had just fallen out. Reflexively, he felt along the sharp lines of his molars. All still there.

“What is it?” Francesca mumbled.

Nicodemus blinked as the dream's amnesia wore off. “A nightmare.” He had been confined in a prison only a few inches bigger than his body. There had been something loose in his mouth. When he spat it out, it was … it was … Now waking life was erasing the dream. A shard of green glass?

Francesca sleepily flopped an arm over Nicodemus's lap. “Go to sleep,” she mumbled into her pillow.

Outside the window, night's darkness was still complete. Then he realized that, in the nightmare, he had not spat out a bit of green glass. “The Emerald is communicating with the keloid again.”

“Mmm…” Francesca said. “Go sleep, Nico.”

“Or maybe it's the dying god. Maybe they're praying to me again and the dying god is reincarnated. Am I running a fever?”

Francesca flopped a hand against his cheek. “No. Sleep.”

They had been up till well past midnight going over their plans to smuggle Leandra from the city.

Nicodemus's heart slowed. Maybe it was just a nightmare. Regardless, he had to get as much sleep as possible before they appeared before the Sacred Regent again.

“Do you think Lea is okay?”

“She's fine. She went to bed before we did.”

“But the things she said…”

“She's worried. We're all worried. You need to sleep.” Francesca pushed her face into his thigh. “Sleep.”

He nodded and lowered himself back down. She wrapped her arm around him, and he tried to forget everything but the sound of her breath and the texture of her skin. This could be the last time they held each other for a very long time.

*   *   *

The throne room was filled with cool air and morning sunlight. Francesca sat between Nicodemus and Leandra. They were waiting for the Sacred Regent and his attendants to finish climbing onto the dais.

Francesca had been too nervous to eat breakfast despite Nicodemus's insistence. Leandra, on the other hand, had eaten with gusto and seemed as calm as if they were planning a garden walk. Maybe Leandra's equanimity came from her loveless spell, which Ellen had recast the night before.

Finally the Sacred Regent stood before his throne and held up one hand. Everyone bowed. The regent was flanked by two new hydromancer guards. Someone had talked him into increasing his personal protection.

Francesca could perceive the Trimuril's stony incarnation standing at the throne's right hand. The goddess wore a slight smile as she looked at Leandra. It made Francesca uneasy. Was the goddess smiling so out of fondness? Or pity because she would prevent Leandra from leaving?

Beside Francesca, Ellen shifted her knees uncomfortably. She glanced back at her student. There was tension around Ellen's eyes. Noticing Francesca's attention, Ellen nodded and returned her face to its usual inscrutability.

Something was wrong. Francesca was about to ask Ellen what was going on when the court's majordomo announced the beginning of the Council. Francesca bowed again.

Once the Council was called to order, the Sacred Regent raised one hand. “Counselors, commanders, citizens of Ixos, we have called you here today to swim through currents of history. Today we change the future of our archipelago.”

Francesca bunched her hands into fists.

“We will see one age end and another dawn,” the Sacred Regent continued. “Our ancestors fled the demons of the Ancient Continent and set down roots on this new land. They sought to build new civilizations capable of withstanding the demon's inevitable invasion. It is the great tragedy of our time that our kingdoms are not united in this.”

The fear in Francesca's gut began to lurch again. Nicodemus glanced at her and then back to the dais.

The Sacred Regent continued. “Sadly, because we have let our differences divide us. We have made ourselves the greatest threat to our own survival. We wage war on our brothers and sisters when we should stand together against the general enemy. And we live in an age when that general enemy has come.” The regent brought his hand down and pointed at Leandra.

Terror flooded through Francesca. She started to yell while spellwrighting. Beside her Nicodemus had already leapt to his feet. Three men in red cloaks were advancing toward him. Behind them stood a woman whose silhouette burned with a bright orange light. The war goddess Tagrana.

Francesca cried out a warning as the red cloaks grew larger. Orange fur striped with black sprouted from their skin. Their teeth became long fangs.

Francesca started to cast a lacerating wartext against one of Nicodemus's attackers, but blazing golden runes flashed before her eyes. Francesca felt her mind being censored from magic. Her silver sentences fell and shattered on the floor. Something struck her in the back and she fell forward.

“That is why,” the Sacred Regent said, “we choose to fight with our brothers and sisters of the empire against the dread goddess Los.”

A powerful force wrapped around Francesca's arms and legs. She turned her head to see Leandra, bound from head to foot in sentences of silvery Magnus. Above Leandra, wearing an expression that seemed at once pained and triumphant, stood Ellen.

*   *   *

Rough hands pulled Francesca onto her knees. She twisted but could not see who was holding her. Beside her, Ellen held a long knife to Leandra's throat. Dhrun lay on the ground bound by Magnus spells. She was struggling against the silvery sentences but to no avail.

“Ellen, I am going to—” Francesca growled, but her student flicked her wrist and cast a Magnus gag around her mouth. The edges of the spell were sharp enough to cut into Francesca's cheek.

Ellen looked at her dispassionately. “I am sorry, Magistra.”

Francesca strained against her bonds, trying to stand, trying to get at the traitor. She half expected her body to explode into its draconic form, but her struggles won her only a deeper cut on the cheek.

“Don't make things messier,” Ancestor Spider creaked in Francesca's ear. “This game is over.” Francesca tried to glare up at the Trimuril, but a bright red roar made her turn her head.

Nicodemus stood before the dais. He'd torn off his blouse. Had it been dark enough, he could have pulled off the spells tattooed across his skin to attack. But standing as he was in tropical sunlight, he had no defense other than his ability to misspell. Circling around him were three massive tigerlike constructs. Their amber eyes fixed on him with predatory hunger. Behind them stood the goddess Tagrana, her aura burning brighter.

Nicodemus stepped toward a construct. It danced backward while another darted at his back. Nicodemus turned around just in time to stop its advance. Three more red cloaks appeared behind Tagrana, each of whom leveled a crossbow bolt at Nicodemus. Seeing them, he froze and then glared up at the Sacred Regent.

It was then that Francesca realized the throne room was now lined by ranks of figures dressed in green, black, and red robes. Imperial spellwrights.

The room grew quiet when the Sacred Regent raised his hand. “We have reached an agreement with Empress Vivian, who has accepted our offer of peace. There shall be no imperial rule of the archipelago. She will not cast her metaspells on the archipelago, so there shall be no threat to our divinities.”

This produced a cheer from the regent's attendants; however, as it became apparent what was happening, the cheer was quickly echoed by all those assembled.

“In return,” the Sacred Regent continued, “we shall give to the empress the dread goddess Los, her draconic mother, and her father, the Storm Petrel. With their capture, so ends the War of Disjunction. Never again shall we fear the demons of our past. Now we stand to greet our new allies and the dawning of a new age.”

The Sacred Regent stood and was soon followed by the rest of the court. Rough hands hauled Francesca to her feet.

Reacting to some cue Francesca could not see, the imperial spellwrights turned and bowed. The Empress Vivian, dressed in white robes and ornate ceremonial armor, strode into the throne room. Her long black hair was pulled back, and around her neck she wore a silver chain that held a tear-shaped emerald. Silence enveloped the room as she climbed the dais. Empress and regent bowed to each other.

When they straightened, Vivian turned to the crowd. “It is with great joy that we accept the offer of peace from our brothers and sisters of Ixos. Do not fear us, for our intentions are only of prosperity. Once we have our prisoners aboard, our fleet shall depart, never to return.” She bowed again to the regent, who returned the gesture. “And it is with even greater joy that, with your help, we seize victory in the War of Disjunction in the name of humanity and the Creator.”

“Lies!” Nicodemus yelled. “You've heard the same prophecies we have. Your victory will sterilize language and doom civilization to stasis and slavery. If you destroy me and my metaspells, you will destroy the Ixonian pantheon. You will destroy wild and creative language.”

The empress stared coldly at her half-brother. “And what had you to offer the Ixonian people and their pantheon, Storm Petrel? You were planning to sneak your demon child to the South. You were going to sacrifice Chandralu for the dread goddess Los. You betrayed humanity and the Creator.”

“You don't understand what Leandra is.”

“Neither do you, Brother. I doubt she knows herself.” The empress looked coolly at Leandra and then Ellen. “But, truly, Nicodemus, it is not your fault. Nor can we blame the draconic Lady Francesca. Who could not be blinded by love of their child? But deep down, both of you know. Both of you have your doubts. All the millennia, all the history cannot be dismissed. There is fear in you both about what your daughter might become.”

Vivian's voice rang out with an unnatural clarity. For an instant, Francesca saw the involuntary image of Nicodemus falling out of his chair, paralyzed by Leandra. In that tiny shard of time, Francesca admitted to herself that she had been harboring a horrible doubt about her daughter. But in the next heartbeat, she felt also her daughter's great potential and her struggle in an imperfect world.

“I know Leandra could never become half the tyrant you are,” Nicodemus snarled at Vivian.

The empress only smiled. “Nicodemus, you are not bound and gagged, because attempting to do so might kill you. And as I am sure you have noticed, your wife and daughter are in our custody. Continuing to resist would endanger them both. Will you be peaceful now, or must we prove who the true Halcyon is?” The empress took the Emerald between her thumb and forefinger.