Vincalis the Agitator (48 page)

“I don’t know what they need to know,” Wraith said. “They’ll find that out. They’ll find it out about you, too, and about
anyone else they question. Vincalis has never shown himself to anyone. Never.”

Solander nodded. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I know he’s never shown himself to me.” He sighed. “Maybe you’re right.
Maybe that is what they’re really after.”

“Come on. You come up with some theory of magic that doesn’t even work, and they’re going to execute you for that?”

Solander laughed weakly. “I suppose not.” He signaled to Wraith that the two of them should end their conversation. They’d
planted their lies as best they could. The stress of lying for the audience he knew he had, though, was costing him.

Solander had hoped to get a copy of his theory to Wraith so that Wraith could get it to the underground where someone could
make use of it, but with Wraith imprisoned, he had no idea where to hide it, or even with whom to entrust it.

If only Wraith didn’t have his atypical reaction to magic, Solander could talk to him mind-to-mind. But with Wraith, nothing
could be that easy. He thought for a while, and suddenly remembered the hand signals the two of them had used around his father
when they’d been boys. The two of them had thought they were so clever—in retrospect, Solander had to think that his father
had simply assumed that boys wouldn’t have secrets worth searching out.

The code might still work, though, and if he and Wraith didn’t overuse it and kept it as disguised as possible, they might
be able to work a few things out.

Solander dragged his bed along the back wall, which gave him a clear view into Wraith’s cell. Wraith watched him. He stayed
put.

“Didn’t like the view?”

Solander said, “I was hoping that being right against the back wall might cut down on some of the … er … noise.”

“Ah.” Wraith’s eyes never left his. “It help?”

“A bit. Not as much as I could have hoped.”

“I’ll take a little help,” Wraith said, and dragged his own cot over so that it lay against his back wall.

Truly, it made no difference regarding the sound. Stotts kept right on babbling—now his voice ran from the prayerful to the
demanding, but the text remained the same. Solander didn’t care, though. He sat on the cot, his back pressed to the wall,
and with his legs sprawled wide, dropped his hands front and center, so his thighs shielded most of their movement. And he
signaled,
Do you remember the code?

Wraith watched the hands, frowned for a moment, worked the movements out using his own fingers, and then slowly signaled,
Yes. But it’s not a very complicated code. They’ll figure it out quickly.

Then we need to get to the point.

Fine. What point?

I need a place where I can magically create a print copy of my theory. Someplace both you and I know, where you or one of
your people can retrieve it if I don’t make it out of here. I have the key. This new magic can free the Warreners. It can
change the world—and the Dragons can’t even detect it. They can’t fight it. They have no defenses against it. You have to
make sure that your people get hold of it and use it.

Wraith looked at him as if he’d gone insane.
You have magic they can’t even detect, and you’re sitting here? Why? Why haven’t you just created a spell and let yourself
out?

Because they told me they had Jess, and that if I gave them trouble, they’d kill her.

Funny. They told me they couldn’t find Jess, but that they had Velyn and an entire collection of my associates, and that if
I didn’t cooperate, they would kill them.

Both men stared at each other.

Have you seen anyone you give a rat’s damn for in here—besides me?
Wraith signed.

No. You?

No.

Think they’re lying to us?

Maybe. Do we risk their wrath?

Do we stay in here and let them torture us into betraying the people and the causes we care about?

Solander considered that for a moment. The magical interrogation had failed on him because he’d used his new magic to shield
against it, and had magically supplied images that supported his lies. Wraith would be as immune to magical interrogation
as he was to any other magical application. He must have driven them nearly mad as they tried spell after spell to force him
to confess, and got no results from anything.

Certainly they had put him together with Wraith in the hopes that the two of them would betray themselves in discussion with
each other. But Wraith was right. Physical torture would be the Inquest’s next step, because it would be their only option.
And Solander had no illusions about his ability to stand up to physical torture. He’d led a soft life. He’d crack like an
egg.

We need to get out of here now,
he signed.

Wraith smiled a bit.
How?

I can get the locks. I can shield us. We’ll need to wait until it’s dark in here, though, and Stotts is asleep—I don’t want
him alerting anyone.

Does he sleep?

Sometimes. Not often enough.

Can you get us past the guards?

I can get us past magical alarm systems. I believe I can put a shield around the two of us that will fool them. I’m sure I
can make myself unobtrusive to guards, too—but you’re the problem there. Surrounding you with a shield is simple, because
all you have to do is stay close to me and you’ll be inside of it. Changing your appearance with an illusion, though…

Wraith nodded.
Then we’ll need to avoid guards.

Yes. Unless I can make myself seem to be a guard.

Risky.

We’re going to die in here if we don’t flee. How much riskier does the situation need to be? My gut says we’re in terrible
danger right now.

Then we’ll flee. Our signal will be Stotts asleep.

Done.

Meantime,
Wraith signaled,
I know the place for your theory. Create a copy in the Oel Artis Warrens. First house up against the wall by the Vincalis
Gate. First apartment on the right. Each unit has built-in seating with storage on the right wall beside the door. Can you
find that? Can you do it?

Solander considered this for a while. He could trance, use the new form of magic he’d developed to draw energy from his own
flesh and blood, find the place Wraith described by distance-viewing without the viewer—an uncomfortable prospect, but not
an impossible one—and create a perfect copy where Wraith indicated.

But you’ll be the only person who will be able to retrieve it,
Solander protested.
If anything happens to you, it will be lost forever.

I know. But I can’t think of anyplace else where we wouldn’t be compromising someone whom the Dragons and these people of
theirs might already have under observation.

True.
Solander considered.
I can do it while we’re waiting for Stotts to fall asleep. It might take some time, though, and it will definitely cost me
some energy. Why don’t you try to sleep? You may have to carry me out of here.

Really?

Yes.

Wraith’s forehead creased, but he nodded.
I can do that. I’ll sleep. You work. We’ll get through this.

A long pause, with the two of them sitting there looking at each other, friends separated by time, by the abyss formed from
their different lives, by the directions they had chosen and the worlds in which they moved. They were friends who had wandered,
brothers estranged by nothing more pressing than life; and in that moment Solander realized how much he had missed Wraith,
and how much he hoped they would find their way back to the close friendship they had once had.

This new magic could give them that. It could give them everything.

Fortune favor us,
he signaled to Wraith.

And whatever gods there might be,
Wraith replied.

Their fingers fell still. They each stretched out on their cots and waited for any hint of darkness, and for the babble that
was Stotts to cease.

Velyn paced along the broad, cool breezeway of her island home. Out in the courtyard the palms rattled, every breeze clattering
their fronds together. Monkeys shrieked and parrots screeched. She hated the tropics. Palm trees seemed unfinished to her,
and monkeys, with their weird little faces and nasty little hands, made her queasy—and she was afraid of parrots. Big evil
beaks and beady bright eyes.

Her guest followed half a pace behind her, his flowing khebarr, loosely belted and with the skirts tucked up into the belt,
already sticking to his skin.

“Idrik,” she said, “I am bored beyond words. Surely there must be something for me to do on this godsforsaken island.”

“Beyond this village there is a jungle. Or a rocky beach that ends in the sea. Your friends made sure you had things to entertain
yourself. You have paints. Sculpting materials. Books. Musical instruments. Writing supplies. Cloth and thread and yarns and
beads and needles of every sort. What else might you wish for?”

She glanced at him, trying to assess what he would look like without the body-concealing khebarr. “What can you give me? A
wider bed and a robust young man to put in it. I’ll take you if you’d like to volunteer.”

He stared at her, stricken, and his face flushed the deep, tortured red of a tropical sunset. Poor boy—he hadn’t been prepared
for her to be honest with him.

Speechless, he looked down at his feet and twisted his hands together, as if by doing so he might wring the sweat out of them.

“Well? You’re supposed to be my assistant, aren’t you? They hired you, right? So assist me. Take off the robes and let me
get a look at you, then. I suspect you’ll do—I’m willing to be reasonable, after all. I don’t demand a prize stallion—just
someone with a little imagination, some stamina, and a bit of enthusiasm.”

Behind her, someone with a very deep voice cleared his throat.

Velyn turned and found a lean, dark-eyed man in a black khebarr watching her.

“Stolta Velyn, don’t waste your time teasing the children.”

“He’s a child? He looks old enough. Barely.”

“You’re his first full posting. He most certainly isn’t prepared to satisfy your lusts.”

“Then I’m to be left dry as a barren old woman?”

The stranger smiled slightly and gave a signal to young Idrik. The boy fled at a pace just fractionally slower than an out-and-out
run.

“I didn’t say that,” the stranger said when the boy was out of earshot. “I didn’t even imply it. I merely told you that you
aren’t to be bothering the children.”

Velyn sized him up. He was her age. Maybe a bit older, but if he was, he wore the age with remarkable grace.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

He smiled slowly. “I seem to have heard that you were bored.”

“You have good ears. Or good timing. Who are you? Really?”

“You can call me Farsee.”

“Which doesn’t answer the question of who you are.”

He chuckled. “It’s as valid as your saying your name is Velyn. Velyn isn’t who you are, but it’s the name you’ve attached
to yourself. Who I am is something that I can know, but you can only discover through experience—not by my telling you.” He
took a step toward her. “Are you still bored?”

She had to smile at that. She wasn’t. Not in the least. She found herself excited, interested, even intrigued.

He nodded at her expression and said, “Good. If you’d like to make the day interesting someplace other than your hot, stuffy
bedroom and your hard mattress, come walk with me. I know an excellent place—cool and beautiful and almost … enchanting. And
we’ll have the most excitement you’ve had since you got here.”

“You think well of yourself, don’t you?” Velyn was already walking to him, though, not in the least concerned by his answer.

“I know who I am. I’m satisfied with that.”

Velyn found his answer delightful. She looked forward to discovering if he could stand up to his own opinion of himself. If
he did, wonderful. They’d have a memorable afternoon. If he didn’t, well, she’d get some amusement out of the whole thing
one way or the other. If her amusement came at his expense, she could live with that, too.

He led them out of the breezeway, through the central garden, and then toward the back of the little compound. Beneath vines,
he opened a gate that she had never discovered before.

“I didn’t know this was here,” she murmured.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

Behind the compound, the jungle grew hard up against the walls. Beneath the dense canopy of giant ironwoods and blackwoods
and snaketrees and vining blooddrinkers, she could see the start of an overgrown path.

“Not many people come back this way. The place where we’re going once had regular visitors, but the jungle reclaimed much
of the territory after the last civil war in the islands. The chapel remains—is, in fact, better than it was before, since
I have made it into my own little home away from the Order.”