The Whitefire Crossing (51 page)

Varellian’s face didn’t change at Kiran’s agreement, but Niskenntal’s eyes narrowed, while several others looked surprised. A councilor in brown and gray said something to her neighbor in a low voice. Then they stood, and all but the two mages began filing out. Lena tugged me to my feet.

The pressure on my throat vanished as I stood. “What’s going on?” I asked Lena.

“Everyone without mage talent must clear the room.” Lena pulled me firmly toward the door.

“What about you? You’re a mage, right?”

“My ranking is only third level,” she said. “They’ll use only the strongest of us for this.”

Kiran looked awfully small and alone where he stood in the center of the chamber.

“They’re not going to hurt him, are they?”

“No,” Lena said. But her eyes shifted aside from mine, and I knew she lied.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

(Kiran)

K
iran’s heart jolted as the chamber doors boomed shut. Sweat laced his palms. He had never dropped all his mental defenses before. The Alathians would gain access to his innermost self. They could destroy his will the way Simon had intended, leaving him utterly unable to form a thought on his own, as placidly obedient as a sheep.

But at least they wouldn’t use him to channel spells that would bring death to innocents. Mindburning might be as good a punishment as any for the agonies Alisa had endured, and the lives he’d stolen at the convoy.

He braced for a mage to approach him, memories of Simon and his silver knife churning in his head. Instead, Varellian and the other mage councilor stopped just beyond the four mages already surrounding him. Up in the galleries, some twenty mages remained, evenly spaced around the rails.

“Do not speak,” Varellian said. “When the ritual begins, drop your barriers.”

Kiran glanced around, confused. No channel lines marked the floor. Without them, surely the Alathians would need blood or physical contact to work the spell?

A low-voiced, droning chant started up in the galleries. It began simply, in unison, but soon voices diverged, following ever more complex tonal patterns. All around Kiran’s feet, sigils lit with a soft, ethereal glow far different than the harsh fire of activated channel lines.

Gradually, so gradually that at first he thought he imagined it, power rose to coil around him. The song above continued, wordless but compelling.

Realization dawned. The Alathians were patterning the spell with sound rather than channel lines. Instead of earth power, the Alathians used their own
ikilhia
, each person contributing a small piece harmonized precisely to all the others. The technique was brilliant, yet he couldn’t fathom how so many mages could mesh so well and deeply with each other. It had taken him years to learn to join minds properly with only one other at a time.

Magic pressed softly but insistently against Kiran’s barriers. He came to himself with a start, fear burying curiosity. Every instinct screamed danger. He gathered his courage and dropped his barriers, one by one.

The Alathians flooded in. They swept through his memories, searching, digging. Flashes overwhelmed him: Ruslan, furious at the border; Dev, blood on his mouth as he grinned; Simon, mocking him as he lay helpless; Pello’s sharp, cold eyes as Kiran ate the drugged food; Lizaveta pressing their cut hands together; Mikail, shouting at him as Kiran turned his face to the wall; Alisa, love shining in her eyes, her mouth so sweet and tender on his.

He struggled, drowning, but the Alathians forged on, further back: Ruslan, stroking a hand through Kiran’s hair in casual affection as he traced out a pattern; Mikail, grinning at him in excitement when they cast their first seventh-level spell; Lizaveta, cuddling him in her lap. They went all the way back to his first memory, of Ruslan kneeling before him, his hands on Kiran’s small shoulders, telling him he was a very lucky boy and would be part of Ruslan’s family now.

The Alathians tried to go further still, only to come up against the wall that had long blocked Kiran from any earlier memories. They fought to breach it, pushing until he cried out in pain, but the wall held firm. At last they retreated and he thought the ordeal would be over—until their magic swelled, forcing its way deep within to build a solid, shining cage around the fire of his
ikilhia
.

He fought in earnest then, unable to help himself, tearing at the barrier. But his effort came too late to prevent their casting. The cage shrank in on itself, inexorably crushing his
ikilhia
into an ever-tighter knot. He gasped for air that would not come, waves of fiery agony pulsing through him. His last thought as his resistance failed was of Alisa, straddling the guardwall of the Alton Tower with her arms spread wide to the setting sun, her eyes shut and her voice lifted in a chanted lament as the winter wind tore at her hair.

***

(Dev)

“What’s the gods-damned Council doing now?” I demanded of Lena for the tenth time. Stuck in a locked room with nothing to stare at but gray stone, two ancient wooden chairs, and Lena’s solemn face, my nerves buzzed like a swarm of angry stinkwasps.

Lena gave a faint, put-upon sigh. “I told you, the ritual takes time. Our magic is different from what you see in Ninavel. Less showy and more subtle.”

“You mean, slow as a hamstrung dune tortoise,” I muttered. Simon had only needed minutes with Pello to search his mind. Then again, apparently he hadn’t done such a great job. But either the Council was examining every one of Kiran’s memories ten times over...or their spellwork held a darker purpose, for all Lena’s insistence otherwise.

Damn it, I couldn’t even pace to pass the time. After I’d tried that and nearly fallen flat on my face, Lena had pressed me into a chair and ordered me to stay there. Every time I so much as twitched a foot, her dark eyes narrowed in warning.

She stood with her back so straight it pained mine to look at it. I slouched further in the rickety chair. The harsh zeal in Niskenntal’s eyes when he’d talked of burning me to death haunted me.

“You know the Council,” I said to Lena. “How many of them think like Niskenntal?”

Lena’s brows drew together. “Not all. And Captain Martennan intends to testify that without you sending Cara to us, we’d never have learned of the weakness in our wards that let a blood mage breach them.”

Not all—a far cry from the “none” I’d hoped to hear. I fought off images of hungry flames. Martennan’s interest signaled I had a chance for leverage, if only I could find it.

“What’s Martennan’s game in this?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s being awfully helpful to a pair of accused criminals.”

“He’s a good man.” She spoke the words as if she truly meant them.

“Yeah, right.” Clever, maybe. But good? Cara had learned from a guard that the seven Watch captains were second only in power and influence to the two mages on the Council. Good men didn’t rise so high.

“You truly don’t trust anyone, do you?” Pity tinged her voice. My back went nearly as rigid as hers.

“Of course I do,” I snapped. “But first, I wait until they’ve earned it, and second, I always listen to my instincts. Right now, my instincts say Martennan has something to gain from this.”

Lena folded her arms. “You’re not entirely wrong.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose you know much about our politics...”

No, I didn’t. Not that I’d admit it. But I’d never cared how the Alathians ran anything other than their border gates. I’d always spent as little time in Alathia as possible, only long enough to deliver goods to Gerran, resupply, and head back out to the Whitefires.

“Captain Martennan and some of the other Watch officers believe the Council is too restrictive on the types of magic we are allowed to perform.” She paused again. “He hasn’t said so directly, but I believe he hopes these events will force the Council to re-examine their policies.”

“He wants to do blood magic?” I said, taken aback.

“Of course not.” Distaste darkened Lena’s eyes. “But there are other types of spells...he thinks we might advance our own methods, if we didn’t automatically reject everything else.”

Other types of spells, sure. I figured Martennan wanted the threat of Ruslan as the stick to convince the Council to lift restrictions—no doubt he’d claim he needed more powerful spells for defense—and he wanted Kiran captive rather than executed, so he might pick Kiran’s brain for useful knowledge of forbidden magic. Good guy, my ass. But as Cara had so rightly said, I’d take his help now and worry about his motives later, if it meant he saved Kiran’s life.

Only problem was, I didn’t see why in Shaikar’s hells he should save mine.

The door creaked as someone unbarred it on the other side. I leapt to my feet, ignoring Lena’s belated grab for my arm.

Martennan herded Kiran through. Kiran looked awful, his blue eyes dark and sweat drying on his skin, but he gave me a wan smile. “Dev. They told me they’d healed you, but I wasn’t certain I believed it until I saw you in the Council chamber.” His smile faltered, as he peered more closely at me. “You truly are healed?”

“Yeah. Just a little sore and tired.” My worry sharpened as Martennan steered him to the second chair. I’d seen that white, set look to Kiran’s face before, when he’d endured the pain of his shattered arm. “You look like shit, though. What’d they do to you?”

Kiran sat with obvious relief. He shrugged, his eyes downcast. “The Council bound my magic, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

A lie, if I’d ever heard one. “Simon bound your magic, but in that cave you didn’t look like a man with half his ribs broken.”

“I regret to say we haven’t a blood mage’s finesse with mental bindings. We don’t cast such spells often here.” Martennan looked down at Kiran, all soft sympathy. “The worst of the pain should fade with time, but I’m afraid a certain level of discomfort will remain as long as the binding is in place.”

I opened my mouth, outraged, but Kiran spoke first. “I don’t mind.” He held my gaze, his own full of conviction. “I’d endure a thousand times worse if it kept me free of Ruslan.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to,” I muttered.

“Believe me, that binding was effort enough.” Martennan passed his hands over his face and eyed Kiran with bemused admiration. “It’s a shame you weren’t born in Alathia. If any of our trainees had half your strength, I’d be a lot less worried about our defenses.”

Kiran didn’t say anything. I aimed a dark look at Martennen. “What happens now?”

“Now, you wait,” Martennan said. “If I know the Council, they’ll be up arguing all night, and they’ll call in the Watch captains for further discussion before they make a final decision.” He put a hand on Kiran’s shoulder. “Rest assured, Kiran, now I’ve seen your memories I’ll argue all the more strongly you shouldn’t be handed over to Ruslan.”

Kiran’s head jerked up. “Handed over—? I thought I faced execution, but that—please, you can’t—”

My own voice was near loud as his. “You Alathians say you’ll kill anyone who helps a blood mage, and yet you’d give Ruslan exactly what he most wants?” Gods, I’d never thought the Council so craven as to simply toss Kiran back to Ruslan.

Martennan spread his hands. “I don’t think it a likely outcome. Many on the Council would balk at giving in to a foreign mage’s demands. Yet none can deny Ruslan poses a significant threat, and we don’t yet understand the flaw in our wards that allowed Simon Levanian to cross our border—”

“I can help you understand,” Kiran said in a rush. “Simon created his charm with blood magic. From what I’ve seen, your methods are completely different—you’ll find it a difficult task to unravel his spellwork. But I can do it. Even with my power bound as you have done, I can still read a charm. I’d need time to analyze a pattern so complex—but surely far less time than one of your own mages.”

Martennan’s eyes gleamed. “An excellent point, Kiran. I’ll certainly tell the Council of your offer.”

I swallowed sharp words, suddenly sure that Martennan had brought up the specter of Ruslan to provoke exactly this reaction in Kiran. But damn it, Kiran’s survival still mattered more than Martennan’s methods.

“I do have one condition,” Kiran said, with quiet intensity. “Tell the Council I’ll only help if they spare Dev’s life as well as mine.”

I threw Kiran a surprised, grateful glance. For all Martennan’s cunning, I wasn’t so sure the Council would buy into Kiran’s offer—but gods, if it worked...a thread of hope crept through me.

Martennan looked more pleased than ever. “Your loyalty does you credit, Kiran,” he said, his voice warm. “And your ordeal today has one happy outcome. Now that your power is bound, we no longer need to hold you in an active sigil circle, though you’ll remain under guard by mages of the Watch. I’ve arranged for you to spend the night in far more comfortable quarters.”

He turned to me. “Dev, Pevennar says he’s willing to release you from the Sanitorium, as long as you return for a final examination first, and we ensure you keep taking his potions. That means you and your friend Cara can stay with Kiran tonight, if you’d like.”

I’d drink a thousand of Pevennar’s vile potions if I got to stay with Cara and Kiran instead of in that depressing gray building where anxious healers poked and prodded me every hour.

“How long until we learn the Council’s ruling?” I asked Martennan. I didn’t intend to count on the Council’s forgiveness, but I needed time to think. Even if somehow I got us free of Martennan’s mage guards, where could we go? Ruslan lurked beyond the border, and Martennan would hunt us down with ease if we stayed in Alathia.

“The Council will declare their judgment tomorrow at dawn,” Martennan said. “Try not to think about it now,” he added, gently.

Kiran gave a disbelieving, brittle laugh. I silently agreed with him. This’d be one hell of a long night.

***

Martennan’s comfortable quarters turned out to be a small but lavishly appointed house some five minutes’ ride from the Council building. The last time I’d seen a house so highside, I’d been there to steal, not stay. Lena explained the Council had built the house for visiting diplomats. At first I couldn’t figure why they’d stashed us in such luxury, criminals that we were. But despite all the talk of Kiran’s magic being bound, the guard mages eyed him with the wary tension of men circling a rabid sandcat; and if you looked close in that pretty little house, behind all the silken hangings and ornate oil lamps lurked the most powerful wards I’d yet seen in Alathia. They must think it the safest prison they had on short notice.