The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (44 page)

“Drop the knife,” he ordered Bendelof.
“Drop it!”

The other men, dressed as though they
were Amison’s servants, aimed their bows at the former Leaguesman. Her arm
shaking, Bennie did as she was told.

“On your knees,” the duke directed. “Both
of you.”

Bennie’s voice cracked as she told her
guest, “Do as he says.”

Not
this again, not after all this time. Good Giver, not now. Not with the girl
here!

Bennie dropped to her knees, her hands
behind her head. August followed her example, as dizzy and nauseated as at the
height of her morning sickness. Amison’s servants came up and pulled the women
to their feet, tying their hands behind their backs and gagging August with a
silk handkerchief. Bendelof they passed to the duke, who held a dagger to her
throat to keep her quiet.

Amison spoke in Bennie’s ear. “My
apologies for invading your home like this. Allow me to explain: Ingleton’s an
upstart, and he must be stopped. I won’t have him and his magic and his council
destroying centuries of the government we’ve designed, centuries of noble
families in power. The bloody magicked will not take command, not again.
Ingleton must be humbled, must go somewhere, anywhere: Traigland seems willing
enough to take in renegade sorcerers. So I’m going to kill off his tart for
him, to lighten his baggage” (August whimpered through her gag) “and you, Mrs.
Reesp, are going to make sure he gets the message I’m sending him, the message
that he’s to disappear or his aunt will go the way of his wife, because I
myself will be disappearing after this. Understood?”

Man
alive, he doesn’t know me! I thought I was the one he…. I’d recognize him
anywhere.

Amison had clearly been tailing August
for some time, had been planning an assault. Bendelof spoke carefully, so as
not to cut herself as her neck muscles bulged.

“Think this through, by God. You’ve got
to think this through! Getting rid of Ingleton won’t destroy the council.”

“He’ll become its driving force, the
whole kingdom knows that. Bring him down and its efficacy is gone. The magicked
are weakened to the point of being a nonfactor. Who’ll lead them, Zacry Porteg?
The man lives across an ocean. It’s Ingleton who’s the problem. As the man’s a
bloody sorcerer and damn nigh untouchable, this is the only way to remove him
from the scene. He knows my secret, see? He’s made that plain. I’m finished.
I’ve nothing left to lose, but damn if I’m not taking what he loves most with
me. Damn if he’ll appear at court again to triumph in his victory….”

The duke nodded to his accomplices, one
of whom drew away to aim his bow at August. She screwed her eyes shut and
braced herself.

“Wait!” pleaded Bennie. “Good Giver, wait
a minute!”

Amison pressed his blade harder against
Bennie’s throat. “Hold off,” he told his men. To the redhead: “You’ve something
more to say?”

“You’ll want to hear it,” she gasped, and
he relieved the pressure on her neck, though he kept his dagger against her
carotid artery. Her head was spinning; she tried to collect herself, to find
the courage to start talking. Images of Gratton kept floating before her mind.

You
can do this. Stall for Vane. You saw August call him. Maybe he’ll get here in
time to save you both, but if he doesn’t, you can do this. You can’t let this
man kill August and her child.

“I’ve seen you before,” Bennie told the
duke. “In the Palace. I remember the day Zalski fell, remember everything about
it.”

Amison studied her face. His own grew
contorted, in rapid succession, with effort, recognition, and hatred. “You’re
Bendelof Esper.”

“Got your interest now?”

Amison gripped his dagger tighter than
before. “Say what you will. And be quick.”

Now that she had begun—that was the
difficult part, the first step—the words she needed issued from her mouth
like a vomit. “You had influence under Zalski, more than you ever had beneath
the kings. He
was
a sorcerer, true,
and he changed the power structure, but he was a duke born and raised and had
blood as noble as the best of them. You adapted to the new regime. You decided
to support him, and he rewarded your goodwill. His strength was your strength,
before I took that strength away. Me and Hayden Grissner, right? Heavens, you
must loathe the very thought of the Peasant-Duke. Well, let me tell you a
little secret: he and I are still chums. Kill me instead of August, and you’ll
stick it to him as well as Ingleton. And the king, the king who dared give a
country hick a title, you’ll stick it to him too.”

“Don’t lie to me! You don’t remain in
contact with….”

“My necklace,” said Bennie. “I’m wearing
it right now. It was his mother’s.”

Amison examined the charm, the rose, then
broke its chain with a swipe of his dagger. “You’ve no place wearing that, you
common piece of filth!”

The necklace flew across the room,
sliding beneath the stove, and Bennie shook at the violence of the duke’s
reaction. She said, “You saw her with it, didn’t you?”

“The queen wore it constantly.”

“Well, her son, and Hayden Grissner, they
hardly know August. Her death won’t affect them like mine will. Let August go,
and Ingleton will hear your message loud and clear when she delivers it,
believe me. He won’t only have the threat against his aunt over his head, but
his aunt
and
wife. He’d have more to
lose by staying involved with that council you hate.”

“I’ll kill you both and leave a letter
for Ingleton, how does that sound?”

“That’s a mistake,” said Bennie. “Killing
his wife’s a mistake. He’ll just want vengeance, and he’ll stay at court to
spite you. He’ll send his aunt off, sure, but he won’t leave. I’m telling you,
you have to let August live! How can I make you see…?” And somehow, she knew.
“How would Zalski have taken to someone killing his wife in an attempt to
browbeat him? You wouldn’t know this, but Laskenay had her chance, in a
warehouse.”

“He would not have taken well to Malzin’s
death.”

“That’s why Laskenay spared the woman.
Well, Ingleton’s his uncle’s nephew, you got that? He sure didn’t marry for
public approval. He loves the girl. Let her live, unharmed, to tell him you let
her live so that he’d go away, and they’ll both go away, him with her. You’ll
get what you want—he’ll be gone, gone for good—
but you have to let her live.
”

CHAPTER TEN

Race to Bendelof’s

The Magic Council was discussing
converting large schools—two or three in major cities—into
institutions where children who worked magic studied with non-magicked
classmates. Francie submitted the council might have to compensate families who
withdrew their children because of the proposed changes. Casandra asked whether
there was an Education Council; Vane said there was not. Johann was arguing they
must select staff carefully and place dismissed teachers elsewhere when something
moved against Vane’s chest.

The duke had grown so used to his
crystal’s weight and bulk that he rarely gave the stone a passing thought. When
it burned him and he pulled it out by its chain to see it glowing blue, for a
second no one noticed.

“What’s that?” asked Hart Quin.

Vane’s eyes grew wide.

“Ingleton?” asked Zacry.

Vane tapped the crystal, and it returned
to normal. He grabbed Zacry across the table. “August. The blue means August. She’s
in trouble.”

Zacry jumped up. “Where is she?”

“Home. She’s at home, come on!”

“What?” said Francie. “What do you mean,
trouble?”

Vane did not answer. He and Zacry tore
from the library. Gratton waited for Francie in the corridor among a group of
guardsmen, and Zacry grabbed his elbow as he and Vane ran past. A second later,
heedless of witnesses at the original site, the three men were standing just
before the servants’ door. No one was there to mark them appear.

“What the…?” asked Gratton.

Vane pulled his companions out the Palace.
“August needs help.”

“Right,” said the captain. He asked no
explanation.

Five seconds more and the men were
standing in the gardens at Vane’s estate, beneath one of the many trees that
gave the site its name. A trail of stepping-stones led to a pond off to the
right. To the left a dirt path ran to the manor, and behind them the flower
garden bloomed: lilies and lilacs and pansies and snapdragons. Gratton drew his
sword.

“What are we looking for?”

“August. Intruders. Any sign of a
struggle…. The Giver’s harp, I wish I knew! She needs help, that’s all I can
say. The crystal….”

Gratton wasted no time asking what Vane
meant by any crystal; he tore off toward the lake. Meanwhile, a robin tweeted
overhead, and a couple of pigeons waddled on the path to the manor, which Vane
studied as closely as he could from a distance of two hundred yards. Everything
seemed in order there. At least, no smoke was billowing from the windows or
roofs.

“She was going to take a book out here.”

“Where?” asked Zacry.

“Under the trees? By the flowers?”

Zacry ran to the flower garden. Vane
pushed farther into the woodsy sector of the grounds, cursing their size more
vehemently than ever, peering around trunk after trunk for some sign or signal,
or for August herself. He joined Gratton and Zacry where they had split up about
five minutes later; all three were breathing hard from their sprints.

“Find anything?” Vane asked.

“Nothing,” barked Gratton.

“Not a leaf out of place,” Zacry said.
“You sure she’s here?”

“She said….” Vane began, and then grew
pale. “She could be inside. Bleeding out.”

“Bleeding out?” said Gratton.

“Miscarriage.”

Zacry took Vane’s shoulder in what felt
like a death grip. “She’s pregnant?”

Vane grabbed Gratton and transported to
just outside the manor’s master suite. The guardsman and elder sorcerer waited while
Vane ran inside, but he found no one. Next he transported to the library, but found
that deserted too. Finally he went to his aunt’s favorite parlor, hoping at
least that Teena might be there, and so she was, sewing. She dropped her needle
at her nephew’s distraught expression.

“Vane, you’re back early.”

“It’s August. The crystal…. Where is
she?”

Teena let out a little gasp. “She went
out.”

The sorcerer’s heart seized up. She’d
gone out. August had....

“She left the grounds? Where was she
going?”

“I don’t know, Vane. I’m so sorry, I don’t
know. I didn’t ask.”

Vane transported back to Gratton and
Zacry. “Found my aunt. August’s out somewhere. I can’t say what she’d be doing,
I….” Then he and the guardsman shared a look. Comprehension hit them at the
same moment.

“Does Bennie work today?” asked Vane.

“She should be home,” Gratton said. “Good
God, we’re too late. We’re too late, Ingleton.”

Vane felt numb all over: his mind, his
limbs, everything. Zacry shook him back to consciousness. “Tell me you’ve
visited that house.”

Vane had gone there once, to collect
Bennie before Kansten’s birthday party.

* * *

Amison looked as though he were
considering Bendelof’s argument. As though sparing Ingleton’s wife might be to
his benefit after all. August was trying to speak in the background, but could
say nothing for her gag, and everyone ignored her efforts. Bendelof took as
deep a breath as she dared with metal against her throat, praying Gratton would
forgive her, would somehow understand. She told the duke:

“You were in the Palace when the League
attacked Zalski. You saw I was stabbed in the side that day. You know my life’s
fifteen years past due, and so do I. That’s why I live under an alias, in case
someone like you should come looking to collect the debt. Well, tailing August
you found me by accident. Congratulations. You have good cause to grudge me,
but man alive, look at the girl. Look at her!”

Amison studied Ingleton’s wife; she was
pale and sweating and close to fainting. Without his servants to hold her up
she probably would have collapsed, she was trembling so much. Bennie went on:

“She’s not yet twenty, and she’s done
nothing to harm you, not you or anyone. Listen, you’re no troll. There’s no
need for anyone to die here. You’ve more than made your point, Yangerton.”

“That’s
Your Grace
to you,” he sneered.

Bennie swallowed hard—and thanked
the Giver she had not gotten pregnant after all, for time was running short.

Keep
stalling. Just keep stalling. Vane’ll get here.

“You’ve made your point, Your Grace. Free
us and your message will get to Ingleton, I swear it will, and it’ll leave a
hefty mark. As for me, I’ll go away as sure as he will, if that’s something you
want. I’ll go singing your praises all the way. I certainly won’t cross or
condemn you, but this is plain fact: if you’re determined to kill to send
Ingleton your message, you’re better off killing me, not August.
Me
.”

“I’ve no time for
this. If you insist….”

Before August could look away, Amison’s
dagger sliced through the air from Bendelof’s neck to her waist, where the man
twisted it with gusto as it plunged into her flesh. Bennie screamed, but he
held her up and withdrew the short, dripping blade. Whether to cut her misery
short, to silence her, or to save time, he then stuck the bloodied dagger in
her heart. She died within seconds, and he let her corpse drop after cleaning
his blade on her skirt. Then he walked up to August, who had finally succumbed
to fainting, and slapped her across the face to bring her around; when she came
to, he grabbed her from his servants and ripped her gag with the same dagger he
had used to slay the redhead.

The tragedy of the moment, and more, its
great peril, slammed against August’s consciousness as the duke backed her
against the wall. She was helpless, her hands still tied behind her back. Her
voice was her only defense. “Please,” she begged. “Oh, please….”

“Esper argued your case well, didn’t she?
Give me one reason more not to kill you, and perhaps I won’t.”

August had a reason sure enough, but
would he consider it that?

“Cat got your tongue?” demanded Amison,
in cruel imitation of Vane. “I said give me a reason.”

“I’m pregnant,” she whimpered. “Don’t
kill my baby, please don’t kill…. I’m almost three months pregnant.”

“You’re
with child
,” he barked. “You’re a damn duchess. Speak like one!”

August judged it a miracle she kept
standing, even with a wall behind; she had no strength at all. His grip
crumbled her resolve. His breath in her face blew apart any gathering of
courage.

“I’ll convince him we should flee. That
he needs to give up the council. He’ll do it, he’ll do all of it, for the
baby’s good if nothing else. Oh, please, I won’t talk to anyone but
him, not a soul. We’ll be gone tonight,
I swear to you!”

“How long has Ingleton known my secret?”

“What secret?” August asked in desperation.
“He doesn’t know anything. I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re….”

“He knows and he’ll have told you, I’m
sure of that.” The duke placed his dagger against her abdomen, rather than her
throat as he had Bennie. “So how long? What are his intentions? Why hasn’t he
extorted or exposed me?”

“I’m telling you, he doesn’t…. He knows
nothing!”

She only knew Vane had arrived thanks to
a barrage of arrows from Amison’s cronies; they shot at the kitchen door. Zacry
erected an olive green shield before himself, Vane, and Gratton, because Vane
was too busy scanning the scene for August. He found her with Amison after
Amison realized who was there and, with nothing to lose, was swinging the
dagger straight for August’s stomach.

Mudar
would be no use to disarm the duke, Vane saw that instinctively. Too many
precious seconds had been lost, and the dagger’s momentum was too great not to
hit August square in the gut despite that spell. His vanishing spell—he
could use it on the weapon—was too wordy, too long, that knowledge was
instinctual too. A monosyllable incantation rose to Vane’s lips instead.

“
Chway!
”
he yelled, and instead of being impaled, August found herself off-balance
behind Zacry’s shield, right where Vane had been. She fell on an ankle that
twisted beneath her. Vane, in turn, had moved to where she stood before, his
arms in her bonds and a dagger hilt protruding from his stomach. “
Abra Pechum!
” he gasped, and in front of
him a flabbergasted Amison dropped, convulsing from a gash that ran from his
right shoulder to left hip, and left shoulder to right hip like a great X
across his torso.

As the archers reloaded, Zacry and
Gratton took action. The sorcerer let his shield drop and vanished the arrows
from the quiver of Amison’s first servant. Gratton ran forward and pushed a
second against the wall, then stabbed him in the heart without mercy as he saw
his wife had been. The third shot at Gratton, but Zacry misdirected the arrow
and froze the man using
Estatua.

While the battle was ending, August
crawled across the floor to Vane, ignoring her searing ankle while she untied
his wrists and tried to staunch the bleeding around the dagger still stuck
inside him. She used a fragment of skirt she ripped off her dress, as she had done
to gag Dorane the day she met her husband in Ursa’s basement, and succeeded
only in covering her fingers and palms with a horrible shade of crimson. Vane’s
eyes were fluttering, and his grip on her hand grew weaker by the second when
she took his in her own.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, tears
streaming down her face. “Val, stay with me. O God! Val, don’t go, don’t….
ZACRY
!”

Zacry left the last, arrowless archer to
Gratton and ran up to August, whom he pushed aside to get to Vane. While she
fumbled to retake her husband’s fingers Zacry vanished the dagger, which only
increased the blood flow. Vane lost consciousness, and still the blood kept
coming; August could not believe a person had that much liquid inside him.
Zacry cast spell after spell to repair internal damage before he could close
the wound, as quickly as he could but not quickly enough, and August, gripping
Vane’s hand with both of hers now, felt it grow colder and colder, watched his
face lose more and more coloring, hardly took note at the death cry of Amison’s
final servant. “Stay with me,” she begged her husband. “Come on, stay with me.
Don’t you die on me, Val.”

Finally, finally, Zacry closed the wound.
He closed it and placed a clammy finger against Vane’s frigid neck while August
prayed he might find a pulse.

“He’s still here,” Zac told August. She
had never imagined his voice could shake like that. “He’s still here, but his
heart’s barely beating. He’s lost a lot of blood. He could make it, but I’m not
sure he will.”

“Can’t you do something more?” August
begged. “Can’t you…?”

“I’ve done everything I can for him.
Bennie,” Zac demanded, “Where’s Bennie?”

August was sobbing too hard to speak now;
she indicated the back door, in front of which Bennie’s body lay and Gratton
knelt, alternating stupefaction with vain attempts at resuscitation. Zacry
rushed over and grabbed Bennie’s wrist, then set it back down with a gentleness
bordering on reverence. He put a shaking hand on Gratton’s back.