Twixt Heaven And Hell (17 page)

Darius nodded. It was not an unreasonable request. “Certainly. You can come to -”

“You will bring him here,” Arric interrupted. “Tonight. I will speak to him, and then I – I, Darius, not we – will decide how to continue.”

Every fiber of his being screamed at him not to relinquish control of the situation like this. It was not in his nature. For once he was forced to acknowledge that his own desires did not serve Bastion’s best interests. If he and Arric were to salvage something of the new beginning they had made, Darius must bow here.

Bow he did. “Yes, Arric. After sundown?”

“Yes, and make sure he is dressed as a wizard,” Arric confirmed. “If you are right, and there is a spy, Pyre must be denied any knowledge of this man – if they do not already know, and if this is not one of the Warlord’s plots.”

Darius did not attempt to deny it. The thought had crossed his mind many times on the journey to Bastion. Despite his protestations on Kray’s behalf the fear that he was wrong dwelt ever in the back of his mind like a beast lurking in a cave, ready to maul and devour the unwary when their backs were turned.

Sundown for Bastion came quickly, sitting as it did at the foot of a mountain chain. Six hours after high noon, the city was entirely within shadow though the horizon would remain alight for another hour. It was after this time, when even the peaks of the mountains to the northwest were dim, that Darius trudged once more up the road to the Crown. The city around him was falling quiet, all industry ceased for the day. There were only a handful of people upon the roads, and none who would have business that required them to examine a pair of wizards heading to bed for the evening.

Beside him, Kray was dressed in robes borrowed from Jotan. His hair had been cut to a style common amongst wizards – who rarely allowed their hair to grow past the shoulders, whereas Kray’s had hung much further down his back in the wild-looking way of the Enemy. The man had also bathed, which came as a relief to all concerned.

“I am to speak with… your Warlord?” Kray asked.

“No, Kray. The position is not the same. He is our leader, but he leads through building cooperation and consensus.”

The very notion seemed to confuse Kray. From what little Darius knew about how the Warlord ruled, he could understand that. Darius also knew that his own actions seemed contrary to the way Bastion really worked – the way it was supposed to work. The thought was troubling.

Darius was not able to disguise his nervousness at the upcoming meeting, and Kray picked up on it.

“This Arric. He decides my fate?”

There was something in the question that Darius had not expected – Kray feared this. There was nothing Darius could do, though, but tell the truth.

“Yes,” he said, and could say no more.

So it was two silent men who climbed the road in the early night. Beyond the secondary walls that marked the border of the Crown, there were more people out and about. Wizards kept strange hours, and the messengers and officers were forced to accommodate them. None paid any heed to Darius and his companion. They made it inside the tower without incident, and were before the door to Arric’s chamber soon after.

The door was closed, though light shone from beneath it. Darius knocked, the sound echoing loudly in the dim, still corridor.

There was shuffling from within. The door opened, revealing Arric alone in the room. The Council Leader was wearing a fine robe, dark blue with silver threading – obviously chosen to impress. Darius could not say that it wouldn’t work. Kray knew nothing of Arric and despite Darius’s assurances that Arric was no Warlord, the high authority of Arric’s position had not been denied.

Arric barely looked at Darius, saving his gaze for Kray. For his part, the former sorcerer did not flinch, staring back with some of the vigor that Darius remembered from the Shambles.

“Kray,” Arric said. The man nodded, though it hadn’t been a question. “Come in. Darius, you wait in the hall.”

Just like that, Kray disappeared into the room and Darius was left standing in the corridor. The Crown was rapidly cooling in the evening, but he resolved to wait just as well.

For hours he sat and stood and paced the stones of the corridor. There was never a sound from within Arric’s chamber, not one exclamation or raised voice or even the shuffling of a chair. It carried on so long that, as his fingers grew numb from the chill of the approaching autumn, Darius began to wonder if the two men hadn’t somehow silently throttled each other.

That thought was mere idle folly, of course. It had crossed Darius’s mind that, if Kray had been sent to cause trouble, then an attack on Arric may be just the sort of opportunity he had been looking for – and here they had dangled it in front of him. He had no doubt that Arric had considered this possibility as well. Even the most daft of men were clever where their own skins were concerned.

Just as Darius turned from the door to begin pacing the hallway again, it opened. Kray stepped out, followed by Arric. Both were calm, looking as if nothing of note had transpired. Darius looked expectantly at Arric.

“Take him back to wherever you had him, Darius,” Arric began. “Keep him there, away from the Crown, for now. Kray, continue to assist as you have been. I will be sending men to interview you as well – there is no doubt much you know that could aid us.”

Darius opened his mouth to speak, but Arric gave him no chance. After delivering his orders, he disappeared back into the room and closed the door behind him. Puzzled, Darius turned to Kray.

“What did you speak of for so long?”

Kray shook his head. “The Council Leader -” Darius noted how awkward the title sounded from Kray “- said that I should not say.”

Chapter Twenty-One

This time, Darius held the spell, and Balkan attacked. It could only be called an attack – the wizards had chosen a remarkably aggressive tactic for disrupting the Firewalking spell.

There were six of them, crammed into Balkan’s laboratory within the Crown. Darius and Balkan were the only ones actively participating. The rest look on attentively. The wizards stood in one corner of the room, and all were watching a point on the floor near the opposite wall. Darius began the spell. Now that he was well versed with it, the actual effects started quickly. The spell he used now was as near as could be to the spell the enemy cast – excepting only a pair of very grim details.

Kray had been instrumental in getting them to this point, and Darius regretted the fact that he could not be there with them. Of the men in the room, only three knew of Kray’s existence – Jotan was there as well. The others merely thought they were a party to typical, if privileged, research.

Fire sprang from the air in front of Darius, and the room heated quickly. Though the enemy favored it, there was really no need for the spell to use that particular medium. Darius could have accomplished the transportation using other magics that had no earthly twin – however, they all agreed that the original spell needed to be duplicated in order to be sure of the efficacy of the counter.

Because the spell covered very little distance, and because Darius had not used a great deal of energy in creating it, the exit point – the ‘far door,’ as they were calling it – was small. The ball of flame had already appeared and was charring the stone floor of the lab. Soon after, Balkan began his work.

If the spell itself could be likened to a tunnel, boring through the fabric of the world between two distant points, then the counterspell was a sapper maniacally hacking at the support timbers. Balkan began to pick and scratch at the crucial threads that lent the spell its stability and allowed it to exist from one moment to the next. Once he had pried these loose, the spell began to break down. Darius could have tried to keep it active – and might have succeeded – but did not, for he knew that Balkan was not finished yet.

The spell may be a tunnel, and the counter a sapper, but there was no simple metaphor to describe the end effect. As Balkan completed his destructive interference, he began to alter the spell instead of simply deconstructing it, redirecting threads of power in and out and around to twist their initial intent. All the power that had been coursing along the spell’s track erupted in a single, catastrophic discharge. Instead of their initial, harmonic interchange, they became violent. The spell lost stability and annihilated itself, leaving Darius partially stunned as the backlash hit him.

The far door exploded, striking chips from the stone floor. One of the wizards threw up a shield to protect the gathered watchers, and the stone fragments rebounded harmlessly off the air before them.

For a moment they were silent. Then Darius turned and faced his fellows, folding his arms as he went. “Is everyone agreed that it works?”

Jotan gave a sigh and spoke even as he nodded. “We need a larger test, Darius. The scale here is far too small.”

“The spell is nearly an exact duplicate,” Darius protested. “What difference will the scale make?”

“I don’t know!” Jotan said. “Nor do you; that is exactly the point. Here we are using vastly smaller amounts of magic, transporting nothing, and covering only a distance of a few feet. Who knows what might change when we apply the counter to the actual spell? With the kind of power this spell contains, we must use caution.”

Darius nearly cringed at the use of that word, so much a rallying cry of the wizards of Bastion. “What do the rest of you think?”

There was a general feeling of assent to Jotan’s view. Eventually Darius grudgingly allowed that the difference between their tests and the actual event was too great.

“Then we must arrange a larger test very quickly. Time is short – we must begin teaching the counter to others and moving to the most likely area of the next attack, or we’ll miss our chance.”

“We’ll need several more wizards to provide the necessary power,” Jotan said. “We do not have the Enemy’s ability in that area.”

Kray had told them of the box used in Padraig’s casting. It was obvious enough where the power came from; Only human sacrifice could provide that kind of energy. How, though, had the enemy managed to tuck it away within a box? Sacrifice was a powerful – and vile – tool, but the murder and the spell had to come within moments of each other before the resultant power dissipated. Until now. If such vast quantities of power could now be cached and stored for later use, it would change the nature of battle immensely.

“I’ve some theories on that,” Balkan mused. “I have not had the time to attempt it, but I imagine I can duplicate the feat.”

“Another new project, Balkan?” Darius asked with a smirk. “Maggie will not be pleased.”

“Maggie will understand the urgency of the situation,” Balkan said with a sigh.

Jotan returned them to the problem at hand. “Who to bring in?” He wondered aloud. None of them had spoken of the spy out loud, but it was on their minds. Darius had assured them that measures were being taken.

Before anyone had offered a suggestion there came a loud and insistent knock upon the door. Balkan opened it.

One of Arric’s messengers stood in the hall, an acolyte who would one day become a wizard. He looked slightly apprehensive, which told all within that he had come with a message for Darius. Normally sure of the authority which backed their missives, Arric’s messengers were especially wary of Darius’s biting tongue, which had been visited upon them all-too-often due to whom they spoke for.

Knowing that the news of his and Arric’s truce had not spread yet, Darius stepped forward with a kind expression which he hoped would set the boy at ease. He felt a moment’s embarrassment at the unearned scorn with which he’d often greeted these fellows – he had never meant for them to take it personally.

“Wizard Darius?” the messenger began. “Wizard Arric would be pleased if you would meet him in the Council Chamber at your earliest convenience, to discuss several points of the upcoming council meeting.”

Darius nodded. “Tell him I will be along shortly.”

The young man at the door looked surprised that there would be harsh words from Darius, but quickly recovered his composure. Nodding smartly, he left. Balkan shut the door and, with a smirk, turned to face Darius.

“Are you going to tell us what is going on between you and Arric, my friend?” he asked of Darius. The others nodded their heads, showing their wish for him to elaborate on the sudden congeniality between the two old rivals.

It was Darius’s turn to smile. “Not just yet. I urge you all, however, to come to the Council today. Especially you, Jotan.”

Jotan had been near the top of the list that Darius had presented to Arric that morning. His father had been a long-serving captain in the army.

His fellows were puzzled, and Darius made no move to enlighten them. On his way to the door, he suggested that they all consider candidates for joining the counterspell trial.

In the Council Chamber, Arric sitting alone in his high-backed chair. Before him were the parchment upon which Darius had inscribed his list of ten names as well as a quill and ink pot. When Darius entered, Arric spoke without looking up at him.

“Why Brannon, Darius? He was only raised to Wizard four years ago.”

“Because he has already lived a soldier’s life, Arric,” was the quick reply. “He served two years before he was found Talented. His men will respect him for that.” Instead of walking into the circular expanse of the table, Darius went around and stood at Arric’s side.

“They’ll respect him because he is a wizard.” Arric replied with a frown.

Darius shook his head. “Respecting his power as a wizard is not the same as respecting his worth as a man, Arric. When I founded the Gryphons, my men were wary of me, but knew that they had to obey me. I had yet to prove my abilities as a soldier, and as a leader.”

Arric nodded thoughtfully, then dipped the feather quill into the ink and made a quick notation on the parchment. He slid it towards Darius.

Marks had been made next to five of the names, with the freshest one aside of Brannon’s. Jotan was marked as well. Darius was pleased to see that, of the five men picked, four had reputations of being in Darius’s camp. Arric had not remarked that these wizards made up seven of the names on the list, and only three were wizards who were loyal to Arric or who had shown little preference. It was only natural, in Darius’s mind – men who would be suited to leading units similar to the Gryphons would need temperaments similar to his own, and most of those had also found themselves at odds with Arric.

“Were there any you think I should have included from the first?” Darius asked for the sake of politeness.

Arric shook his head. “It was a good list. The choices are made, then. We will announce them at Council. Now -” a spell from Arric shut the mighty doors of the chamber, “- I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to the subject of the spy. Steps must be taken to both identify him and limit the damage he can do in the meantime.”

“You are convinced that a spy exists, then?” Darius inquired. He still had his doubts – Traigan was a very intelligent man as they had seen repeatedly. There may be other ways for him to siphon news out of Bastion.

“I am. Kray's information was convincing. Unfortunately,” Arric huffed, “I have no idea as to whom it may be. The information was all of a very general nature. I find it unlikely that anyone privy to the attack upon Cairn is the spy, as the enemy remained oblivious to those preparations. There are ways to start narrowing the list, but they will take time. I will likely need to speak again with your pet sorcerer, as well.”

Darius frowned. “You do him a disservice.”

“That remains to be seen. I hope you are still keeping an eye on him. Convincing story or no, we cannot trust him just yet – perhaps not ever.”

“I do trust him, Arric, but I am still watching him.”

Arric left it at that. He glanced out the nearest window to check the sun. “Now, before the others arrive, tell me of your progress on the counterspell. I’ve had no time to participate in the research. I know practically nothing.”

A faint smirk grew on Darius’s face, and Arric heatedly clarified. “About the
spell
.”

“We are close, Arric. Very close. We have a workable solution, and soon will carry out a trial on a larger scale. In my opinion, the spell is ready.”

Arric turned back to Darius quickly with a look of surprise. “That is quick work. Who knows this, Darius? That you are so near completion?”

“Only those of us who did the research.” Darius named his companions.

“Have you told anyone else? Will they?”

“I have not. Nor will they.”

Arric cursed softly. “I hope you are right. If we do indeed have a spy in the city, the information may find its way to the Enemy. I want to cut their next attack to pieces. They must be stretched thin with all of their aggression in the past month, and if we can break their stride they shall need a long time to recover it.”

As do we,
Darius did not say. Bastion’s ‘stride’ had been broken thoroughly with the taking of Nebeth. Arric saw the weakness in the Enemy, but could not see it in himself.

“They will not likely speak of our work,” Darius said. “The spy has us on edge as well.”

“Good. Before the Council begins, please speak to each of them. I intend to announce that your work progresses slowly. If the Enemy hears
that
, perhaps they will take their time preparing their next move – giving us more time to check it.”

Darius grinned. “That is devious, Arric. I’m impressed.”

Arric looked up without humor. “My position carries with it a wealth of experience in making people believe as I wish them to.”

Darius’s smile dropped. He had thought that Arric’s manipulations were more the result of an innate tendency than deliberate actions. Hearing otherwise threw their previous years of jockeying into a somewhat different – and more unpleasant – light. He took a deep breath and forced that aggravating realization from his mind.

“Are we reinforcing Threeforts?” Darius asked.

“Yes, covertly. Traigan will know if we start moving armies about. I do not want to spook him into action.”

“The generals are absolutely sure it will be Threeforts?”

“Yes. There is no other place the Enemy has held in living memory that can do nearly as much damage to our position, not now that the Enemy holds Nebeth and contests the Shambles.” Arric forced a breath out between clenched teeth. “We have no idea when they will strike, though.”

“We can delay them,” Darius suggested. “Even if your rumor does not work, they will take seriously a move on the Shambles.”

“We cannot mount an effective assault on the Shambles, Darius.”

“Incorrect, Arric. We cannot mount an assault that has no risk of defeat, but we can certainly pose a threat. Come at them from two directions – Fourth Army has remained unmolested. Our soldiers from the Valley are still nearby, and can attack from the west. If they both move into place to attack, the Enemy will have to pay attention – shift their focus back to the Shambles.”