The Way Into Chaos (22 page)

Cazia started the Eleventh Gift, trying hard to recall all the triggers and hand motions. It was the second most common spell taught to scholars—starting a fire was first—because there were so many mines in the Southern Barrier, but Cazia hadn’t practiced it often. For one thing, making stones crumble wasn’t fun. For another, hostages were not encouraged to practice magic that could breach the city defenses. It was a measure of Doctor Twofin’s trust for her that he taught it to her at all.
 

Her first attempt failed, but she could feel the incorrect hand motion she’d made as thought it was an ill-fitting glove. She cast it correctly the next time. The top half of the bitter enemy beside them crumbled, and Cazia swept the loose stones away.
 

It was flat enough. She hoped. She told Zollik to climb onto it, then joined him. Turning back, she cast the Sixth Gift on the Friend. It had the exact opposite effect of the stone breaker--creating a stone block rather than breaking one apart--but the spell itself was completely different--the physical gestures and mental preparations had nothing to do with each other.
 

But she hadn’t forgotten that, either. She cast it three times to make the stack of blocks higher than the broken enemy they were standing on, then climbed onto it, letting Zollik step on behind her.
 

He frowned at the stone stack. Each block was as tall as his head. “You’re not really planning to do it this way, are you? We’ll be here all night.”

“If you don’t like it, you can climb a cliff face without rope in the dark, or you can chop down a tree--assuming you can find one--and fashion a ladder. Otherwise, crouch down so I can cast.”

Again, he surprised her by doing what she asked. She cast the Sixth Gift twice more, then they stepped up again. She turned around, cast the spell twice, then switched.
 

How would it feel to be hollowed out? How would she recognize the early signs? A sudden, terrifying longing for it to happen came over her. All her shame and anger, all her concerns over Enemies, all her petty resentments would be drained away. Would that be peaceful? Had Doctor Whitestalk been glad to lose herself to magic?

More questions. She hated them.

“The wall is about five times the height of a man here. If each of the blocks is one eighth of a man, and you’re making two stacks—”

“Stop talking,” Cazia said. “It distracts me, and I don’t want the stack to be misaligned.”

Zollik fell silent, but he began counting on his fingers. Cazia tried to pretend he wasn’t there. She cast the next spell, mindful that the ground was slowly receding.
 

Each block was as wide and long as a sizable bench--spacious enough to stand on comfortably when the ground was less than a body length away, but more and more precarious as they went higher. Cazia heard Zollik’s breath slowly become harsh with fear.

They passed the halfway point to the top of the wall, then reached the three-quarter mark. Sometimes, their tower seemed to sway, but Cazia told herself it was her imagination. Zollik’s face was pale and sweaty, and his hands, when he helped her onto the higher block in her hiking skirts, were cold and damp. His fear was contagious, and he was beginning to truly annoy her.

“We should stop.” Zollik suddenly said.
 

Cazia finished the next spell, settling the new block even with the one they were standing on. “Why?”

“Because no one has challenged us. If we still had guards patrolling the wall, they should have called to us long before now. If the fort had been taken, someone would have shot an arrow into us. But this silence—”

Cazia began the mental preparation for the Sixth Gift, then began the hand motions. The next block appeared across from them, dropping onto the one below with the hard click of stone striking stone. “I wish we had silence,” she said as she climbed onto the higher block. “What could have happened inside? Is there a special drill you do where you pretend the fort has been abandoned?”

“No. What if there are more grunts inside?”

“I don’t care about the grunts or the fort,” Cazia explained. “My friends--the ones who haven’t died--are inside, and if there’s something wrong, I’m going to get them out.”

“I want to know what has happened,” he said, as though he hadn’t just been trying to convince her to run away. He climbed onto the block beside her, crouching low so she could cast over his head.
 

The block dropped onto the one below with the same audible noise, but immediately after, there was a low groaning sound. The stack seemed to settle toward the wall, then became still.
 

Zollik and Cazia looked at each other. “I’ve been waiting for that to happen,” she said.
 

“We’re almost within reach of the top of the wall. Two more steps up and I should be able to grab the edge.” He stepped up onto the high block. It didn’t groan or shift beneath him, so he put his full weight on it. It seemed stable.
 

He’s decided to be brave.
The thought startled Cazia. Was this something people could choose, suddenly, the way they picked out clothes for the day’s weather? She hoped not. It was easier to be brave when she felt she had no choice.
 

She climbed up herself, then cast the spell twice more and stepped up onto the high block. It seemed for a moment that the stack wobbled, but that was her imagination.
 

At least full dark had finally fallen. She was happier that she couldn’t see the jagged rocks so far below her.
 

Zollik must have been thinking the same thing. “No one has lit the watch lamps.”

That’s right. She’d forgotten the string of lights along the top of the wall when the cart had flown into the fort. “Good,” she said, and cast the spell two more times.
 

The blocks seemed to have found a new balance. Zollik handed her his spear and stepped onto the high block. He caught the top edge of the wall easily and pulled himself up with little effort. Cazia felt a flash of envy for his casual strength, but suppressed it. After she figured out what had happened to her brother, she would start to exercise in earnest to make herself...something. Something more than she was.
 

Zollik peeked over the wall. Whatever he saw up there must have been reassuring, because he clambered quietly over the edge and out of sight. His spear was long enough that it would have shown above the wall if Cazia had carried it the proper way, so she held it sideways like a water carrier; it made her feel unsteady in the wind and darkness, not like a warrior at all. At least the rain clouds had blown away.

She expected Zollik to reappear within at the edge of the wall and lift her over, but he didn’t. At first she thought he was being careful, or perhaps taunting her by making her wait--which was silly, but she couldn’t help it. Expecting the worst from people had become a habit.
 

But that annoyance meant something important: she had not gone hollow. Doctor Twofin would never have allowed her to cast the same spell so many times in a row, but now, standing in the wind and darkness near the top of this wall, she was full of fear that she would fall, aggravation that Zollik was making her wait, determination to rescue her friends, and love for them.
 

She had not been hollowed at all, not even a little bit. She had certainly not gained the secret understanding that supposedly came with the overuse of magic. She’d felt the familiar emotional flatness that came with each spell, but no trace of it lingered.
 

Doctor Twofin had been treating her like a child. He’d
lied
to her.

Cazia fought the urge to call Zollik’s name. What if he’d been captured or killed? What if a grunt had bitten his throat
 
just as he topped the wall, taking his life silently, the way grass lions supposedly did?
 

She was just about to start casting the Sixth Gift until she was high enough to climb over on her own when Zollik’s harsh whisper came from above. “Raise up the spear.” She did. He said, “Hold on tight.”
 

She gripped tightly as he lifted her as easily as she might lift a sack of flour. An undeniable thrill ran through her, not just because of the height and darkness, but because it was so
physical
. The feeling embarrassed and annoyed her, but she pushed it aside. There were more important things going on.

Cazia landed gracelessly on the stone wall walk, her skirts tangled. Zollik knelt beside her. “We should make our way around the wall,” he whispered. “The commander’s tower is at the west end of the fort. We can find out what’s going on there.”

“No,” she said sourly. “We have to get off the wall.” She couldn’t see anyone on the walk or in the yard below, but the starlight was sparse and she would easily miss someone in dark clothes. “We’re too easily spotted up here.” The best thing to do would be to get down to the servants’ quarters to listen for news, but Cazia didn’t suggest it. Zollik wanted an authority figure to turn to, but authorities didn’t share information unless they had to.
 

She took a dart from her quiver and started eastward. Zollik fell in behind her, protesting feebly. “We’re more likely to run into someone down there, and the eastern yard is sectioned from the tower. Miss, let’s at least go into the central yard, where the armory is.” Cazia hurried so she wouldn’t have to listen.
 

They quickly reached the top of a flight of stairs. She could see no fires, no lights, no movement below. “Where does this lead?”

“Pens and kitchen.”

That meant servants would be nearby. She started down, glad to be wearing leather boots instead of the hard-soled palace sandals she’d been given in Peradain. Zollik followed her, wisely deciding to be silent for once.
 

There were doors at the bottom of the stairs, and they stood wide open. Cazia knelt at the entrance; it was impossibly dark inside, but the smell was so intense, it made her eyes water. She imagined piles of corpses strewn about in the darkness, but no. No, that wasn’t right.
 

This was the pen. Of course. She knew the animals and servants killed by the grunt had been carried away. This was just the normal smell. She assumed.

The door to next building stood open, too, and it was even darker inside. There were no windows, but she could see a threadbare cot near the door; some unlucky servant had to sleep at the draftiest place, where everyone passed in and out. She listened at the entrance, heard nothing but the wind above, then slipped inside.
 

“No!” Zollik whispered, but then he followed her inside. “We shouldn’t—”
 

She shushed him. They crouched in the darkness, letting their eyes get accustomed to this new, deeper darkness. Cazia knew a spell that would have created a little light to see by, but she didn’t mention it, because she didn’t want to argue with Zollik about why it was a bad idea. After a short pause, they carefully picked their way through the cots and rough wooden boxes where servants stored their few belongings.
 

“Where are we going?” Zollik demanded. His voice was barely audible.
 

“To the kitchens,” Cazia whispered. “No matter what has happened, people will have to eat, and the kitchens will not be shut down, not until the dim hours of the morning. If Alliance troops have invaded--or my father’s or anyone’s--someone will be working in the kitchens.”

But the kitchens were deserted. Cazia stared in stunned silence at the embers in the cook fires. A few sticks of wood were still wreathed in flames, but even the largest pots had boiled down to sludge. The place had been abandoned long ago.
 

“This is a bad sign,” Cazia said. “An invading army would have kept the kitchens running.”

“Could it be grunts?”

“Can’t be,” Cazia said. “The one that bit Lar clung to the bottom or our cart, supposedly, but the others... Even if they ran cross-country day and night, they couldn’t have reached us so quickly. Beside, Lar said that most of them were heading south toward the sea.” She suddenly remembered the huge bird that had passed over the fort days before. Could a flock of them have snatched everyone out of the fort? Unseen? Impossible. “It can’t be grunts. Not yet.”

“You are wrong,” a new voice said.
 

Cazia shrieked in surprise as she spun around. Zollik, his spear too long to be swung around in such a crowded room, drew his sword in a single smooth motion and stepped in front of Cazia, bumping her roughly with the shield slung on his back.
 

From a narrow space between two cook benches, a tiny pale hand emerged. Zollik lunged forward, his sword point dipping low, but Cazia caught hold of his elbow. He pulled back as a second little hand emerged. Both were empty.
 

“Come out,” the guard said. His voice was low and rough with fear.

Vilavivianna slipped from between the benches into the dim light of the cook fires. She held her empty hands high in surrender, but her whisper was sharp when she spoke. “Keep your voice down, girl. They hunt by sound.”

“What are you doing in here?” Cazia snapped. “What happened? And don’t call me
girl
.”

She stared up at them for a moment. “You want to know what happened? Follow me.”

The little princess led them through the kitchen to a stairway broad enough for two people to pass comfortably. She bounded lightly up the stairs, pausing only at the top to peer carefully around the landing. Cazia stayed close to her, holding her dart in one hand and laying the other across her quiver so it wouldn’t rattle. Shriek or no shriek, she was going to be as silent as this little girl.
 

“Let me take the point,” Zollik said, and Vilavivianna spun and gave him a look of raw hatred. He fell silent and kept his position at the back.
 

At the top of the stairs was a covered walkway that ran along the edge of the building. A crude wooden roof would keep most of the rain off, but the open sides gave them a full view of the yards below. The princess kept very low, almost on all fours, and Cazia mimicked her. She didn’t look back to see what Zollik was doing.