Sword of Shadows (10 page)

“The stones of Faernvorn are moving,” Corey said.

He sensed the tension that took hold of his comrade.

“Impossible,” Thelyn replied, but his tone was wary. “That barrier was bound for a thousand years.”

“Several of them lean north toward the interior of the wastes.”

“It does not matter. Those creatures have no way of returning.”

“We cannot be certain of that.”

“Centuries have passed since the Naether Demons were banished. Even if they persist in the Underworld, their earth-bound bodies have been reclaimed by the wild lands, shredded by crows and scattered by wolves. The tethers are broken, their spirits have faded. They would not have the strength to come back.”

“They would if someone were to assist them.”

Several moments passed before Thelyn spoke again. “Who would do such a thing?”

“A maga, perhaps. A woman, most certainly. Someone of formidable powers, seeking vengeance or conquest. Do not ask me how I know, for I could not tell you.”

“You speak of Maga Eolyn?”

“Eolyn is certainly capable. She journeyed to the Underworld and brought its magic back with her. I doubt, however, that she would turn her gifts to such purposes, though someone close to her might. Someone inspired by her accomplishments.”

Thelyn drew a slow breath. “And you believe that by bringing Maga Eolyn here, we would be able to decipher this threat. Avoid it, even?”

“We could at least come to an understanding of any true danger.” Corey returned to his wine. “It is, in any case, but one of many reasons to bring her to the City.”

“You have a difficult argument ahead, my friend. I am inclined to trust your instinct, but the King—and his Council—may not be so easily convinced.”

“The significance of Faernvorn might be lost upon them, but the Council bowed before Tzeremond’s influence before, and many still favor his legacy of prudence. They will understand the need for vigilance, and will be most pleased to insist upon it.”

“Their insistence will do little good if the King sees no need to rein her in. He has long favored the maga in ways that defy common sense.”

“His affection for her occasionally clouds his judgment,” Corey conceded, “yet that same desire can be turned to our advantage. The Council will be motivated by concerns for stability, but other considerations will move the King to action, as surely as a wolf acts to defend his mate.”

“Then we will bring our case before the Council, and bring the weight of the Council’s opinion to bear upon the King. If everything is as you say, we could have the Maga Eolyn and her coven brought to the City in short order, perhaps even in time for Summer Solstice.”

Corey smiled, as this was precisely his plan.

Chapter Nine

“I speak in earnest, Renate.” Adiana’s words were slurred by drink. “Borten would be an excellent suitor for Eolyn. He’s good man, a considerate lover—”

Wine escaped Renate’s lips in a sputtering laugh. “How would you know Borten’s a considerate lover?”

Adiana shrugged. “I can see it in his face.”

Renate let go a high pitched cackle and shook her head. “See it in his face? I’ll wager you’ve seen more than his face. You’ve been restless as a lynx in heat since Eostar.”

Adiana gave a mock cry of protest and struck Renate playfully on the shoulder. “How dare you! One does not have to be a maga to see into the hearts of men. I learned a few things working the taverns in Selkynsen, you know. I can read a man as surely as Eolyn reads her books.”

“As surely as Eolyn reads her books in
bed
,” Renate replied in crisp tones.

Adiana flopped back on the blanket with an indignant harrumph. They had settled in the courtyard for an evening of wine and companionship, after having tucked the girls into bed. Days had passed since Eolyn departed for the South Woods, and the week would likely see its end before she returned.

“And you accuse me of inventing stories and gossip!” Adiana complained. “Even if I had ‘read Borten in bed’, what would it matter? The magas always had untamed teachings with respect to that sort of thing. Isn’t
aen-lasati
the source of a woman’s greatest magic? I swear to the Gods, Renate, sometimes you seem too much of a prude to be a maga.”

A prude
. Renate rolled the word over her tongue as she swirled her wine. Yes, that’s what she was. Tight inside, dry as autumn leaves underfoot. Forever bound by the failures and disillusions of her past. “The Magas of the Old Orders were disciplined women, not harlots at a summer festival. To lay claim to their understanding of
aen-lasati
while ignoring all their other teachings does their memory a disservice. It’s precisely that sort of myth that led us to the pyres in the first place.”

“Oh, Renate.” Adiana groaned and reached for the wine skin. “Why must you take everything so seriously? It’s finished, remember? The war, the purges, the rebellion, the prohibition. We’re free now. The magas have been restored to their rightful place in Moisehén. We’ve got a proper
Aekelahr
, aspiring young magas, the protection of the Mage King, and a nice little regiment of handsome guards. Even you could have some fun, you know.”

The thought of her tired old body wrapped around one of the King’s men made Renate giggle until the giddiness shook her ribs and broke upon her lips.

“That’s the spirit!” Adiana said. “Here, have some more wine. And tell me, which one of the guards do you like the most?”

“Oh, for the love of the Gods, Adiana!” Renate was laughing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am an old woman.”

“Age is meaningless for a true maga. That’s what Eolyn says.” Adiana rested her head on Renate’s shoulder.

The older woman returned her warm embrace, inhaling the sweet smells of night mingled with Adiana’s vibrant aroma, of primrose and summer winds, of the riverside city that had once been her home. She envied her friend in that moment, not so much for her youth and beauty, but for her continued faith in the possibility that anything could be finished.

Someday time and experience will break that faith.

Desire and loss, terror and death, treachery and abandonment, all of it stayed with a person until the end of her days, animating the shadows at night, invading dreams, stealing away tranquility in the lonely hours before dawn.

Adiana sighed and lifted her cup to the sky. “I love this moment, when the wine makes the stars shine brighter than ever. Gods bless the vineyards of Selkynsen! Look at the fir, Renate. See how it dances in the torch light?”

Was the young tree dancing, Renate wondered, or trembling with knowledge of some hardship yet to come?

“This is but a momentary truce with the Gods,” the maga murmured. “Three years they have left us in peace; it cannot last much longer.”

“Hah! There you go again.” Adiana took Renate’s hand in hers. “What’s wrong, Renate? Are you having bad dreams?”

Renate bit her lip and looked away, took another sip from her cup. “Last night I was in the wastes of the dead. The magas came after me with clawed hands and hateful screams.”

“Gods, that’s awful!” Adiana withdrew from their embrace and studied Renate in the dark. “You burden yourself with far too much, dear friend. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

“It was my fault, Adiana.” There was no sadness in Renate’s voice, only the cold acknowledgment of truth. “I could blame my youth or my fear and innocence. I could say circumstances went beyond my control, but I would only be hiding inside my own myth. I made my choices. I understood their consequences, and many of my sisters burned because of it.”

Adiana sent a slow whistle through her teeth. “You’ve never said it quite like that before.”

Renate shrugged and looked away.

“Does Eolyn know how you feel?”

“She thinks the Gods have a different way of judging our transgressions, that they interpret our acts across a grander expanse of time and consequence.” Renate shivered at the memory of Eolyn’s words. “She believes I survived then in order to serve a greater purpose now.”

“Well, she’s right, isn’t she? You’re here after all, helping to rebuild the legacy of the magas. I bet all your dead sisters are happy about that.”

Renate frowned. How to explain to Adiana that this would not be enough? Dragon was waiting to exact a greater payment, a harsher sacrifice. The old maga had left everything behind and followed Eolyn to Moehn in anticipation of this.

“Do you know what I dream about, Renate?” Adiana’s voice became bright again, washing the away the shadows of doom, as was her gift. “The Circle. Now those are good dreams, about singing with Rishona, making music with Nathan and Kahlil after the show. I miss those times, all our friends from those far-flung kingdoms, travelling from one end of Moisehén to the other.”

Renate gave a short, mocking laugh. “Corey had us on a knife’s edge with that show of his. Not a day passed when I didn’t think the next magistrate would throw us all on the pyre.”

“But we laughed about it didn’t we? And we created like happy fools. So much defiance in our art! So much beauty. Do you think Corey will ever organize something like that again?”

“I don’t know.” Renate had cared deeply for Corey. She might have loved him once, had she not been such an old crone and he such a young fool. “He might. But I don’t think it would be the same, if he did.”

“No, I suppose not. I used to think Corey would be the perfect match for Eolyn.”

“Corey and Eolyn?” Renate arched her brow. “Adiana, you have many gifts, but matchmaking is not one of them.”

“What would have been so wrong about that? He is a mage, and she is a maga.”

“Corey is a vine growing in the dark. Eolyn is a flower open to the sun.”

“So he turned out to be a treacherous bastard.” Adiana shrugged. “None of us saw that coming back then.”

“I thought you could read a man like a book.”

“I can tell if a man’s a considerate lover. It’s much harder picking out the treacherous bastards.”

“Corey was not so bad,” Renate said. “He only did what he thought he had to do.”

“Well, she’ll never trust him again, not after the way he betrayed her brother
.
”

The sound of heavy footfalls distracted them from their conversation. One of the men approached, torch in hand.

“Maga Renate,” he said, “Mistress Adiana. Sir Malrec requests that you meet him at the north wall at once.”

Something in the man’s tone extinguished the heat of the wine. Renate’s bones creaked as she rose to her feet, and she gripped Adiana’s hand for help. They fastened their cloaks and followed the soldier between the stone buildings, across the gardens. Crickets and frogs filled the silence with insistent song. The nervous whinny of horses drifted from the stable.

When they approached the half-built wall, their escort brought the torch low. Malrec greeted them in subdued tones and beckoned them to his side.

“There toward the north.” He indicated with a nod.

Renate peered over the half-finished wall. In the distance, she spotted a luminous mist that wavered, faded then flared again. A memory stirred inside her, nebulous in form, as if she had lived this moment before though she could not quite capture when.

“What is it?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

“Fire,” he replied. “The fields around Moehn are burning. Or worse, the town itself.”

“We must go to them.” Renate gripped Adiana’s arm. “We’ll need marigold, yellow carowort, and fire-of-aethne, among other herbs and ointments. Come with me to the herbarium, Adiana. Malrec, see the horses are readied at once.”

“No.” The finality of his response caught Renate off guard.

“No?” she replied. “What do you mean, no?”

“I have readied the horses, but not to take you to Moehn. At least, not until we have some idea of what is happening there.”

“Are you mad? We can see what is happening. Those people are suffering! As a maga, I am sworn to help them.”

“As a Knight of Vortingen, I am sworn to protect you. You and Mistress Adiana are not to depart until I give you leave to do so. I have sent a scout to assess the situation. We should have word from him within the hour.”

“I will not sit here a prisoner in my own home while people’s lives are in danger.”

“The town may be under attack.”

“Moehn under siege?” Renate threw up her hands in disbelief. “Oh, for Gods’ sake. Who would attack Moehn? Some drunken imbecile kicked over a lantern, or a torch fell from its rusted sconce.”

“We cannot be certain of that.”

A shout from one of the men perched on the wall silenced them both. All eyes turned north once again. The night went still. The crickets stopped singing. Renate scanned the darkness. She could hear Malrec’s breath, low and steady. A charge filled the air, as if lightning were poised to rip through the starry heavens.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What did they see?”

Malrec hushed her, raising one hand as he searched the obscure terrain.

Once, a lifetime ago, Renate had been a High Maga, and she could change into an owl and see the night world with clarity. But she had long since abandoned those powers, and now the hills so familiar by daylight were amorphous, the distances impossible to judge.

Was that movement she saw along the nearby ridge? A lynx, perhaps, taking advantage of the moonless night to scurry across open fields. But then a flame ignited in its wake, followed by a discontinuous arc of light that spread point by point over the low hill, like a line of small torches. On sudden impulse, the string of flames rose high into the air, slowed against the ebony firmament, then fell toward the school in a hissing rain of fire.

Malrec took hold of Renate and crushed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her as the arrows fell behind them. Some embedded in the earth, others landed on nearby roofs, igniting the thatch in an instant.

“The children!” Adiana cried. She tore away from the soldier who had shielded her and disappeared into the flickering shadows.

Renate moved to follow, but Malrec caught her by the arm and yanked her back.

“The horses are ready,” he said. She had never seen his face so close, so vivid. The rounded cheeks, the rough curls of his beard, the fine spittle that rode on his rapid words. “Take them and head south. Do not look back, do not stop, until you reach the forest. Three of the men will accompany you. Go!”

He shoved her away. Renate’s feet moved of their own volition, carrying her toward the girls’ room even as a second volley of flames descended from the heavens.

Behind her raged the shouts of desperate men, followed by the ring of metal upon metal and sudden cries of anguish. Already the assailants were topping the half-finished wall.

Her truce with the Gods had ended, suddenly and without warning, as was their pleasure.

Adiana was ushering the girls out of their room, bleary eyed and confused, with summer cloaks thrown over their nightshifts. The soldiers met them with five steeds. One of the men hauled Catarina up to ride with him, Adiana mounted with Tasha, and Ghemena was given to Renate. As they turned the horses toward the south gate, Renate caught site of Eolyn’s study. The roof was ablaze with golden flames, bright as the sun come to earth.

“The annals,” she cried and spurred her horse toward the fire.

The animal whinnied and pulled back before they reached the building. Leaving the reins with Ghemena, Renate dropped to the ground. Ignoring the shock of pain in her legs, she raced to the study and burst through the door. Smoke lodged in her throat and stung her eyes. The room itself was not yet aflame, but the roof roared and burning ash fluttered on the air like black snow.

Renate blinked back tears. Was this what her sisters had seen, as the flames rose up around them? The world aglow with scalding heat, the cold realm of the dead their only promise of escape.