War of Shadows (31 page)

“I’ve never tried to do anything like that before, sir,” Walker replied.

“Just try,” Niklas replied. “And you can tell Ordel that I ordered you to do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Walker stared at the breach in the wall where the fighting was most vicious. His face grew taut with concentration, and his eyes took on a glassy look. “The magic’s not good,” he murmured. “It’s flickering. I’m having trouble holding on to it.”

“Try.”

Ayers was near the forefront of the fighting, shouting insults at the attackers and orders to his own men. The Tingur were armed with farm tools and clubs, but what they lacked in proper weapons they made up for in rage. They fought like wild men, shouting their devotion to Torven, caught up in ecstatic fury.

Walker raised one hand, his eyes still fixed on the break in the wall, and began to chant. The cords in his neck grew visible with the strain, and his chant grew faster. One of the Tingur screamed and collapsed. Another, and then another dropped to the ground, writhing and vomiting blood. Niklas’s soldiers gave a shout and pressed forward. Niklas glimpsed Carr at the forefront of the fight, stepping over the bloody bodies of the fallen Tingur to give chase.

If he comes back alive, I’m going to kill him
, Niklas thought, watching as Carr ran bellowing after the retreating Tingur.

Ayers and the soldiers surged forward as the Tingur forces fell to their knees in surrender or ran in disarray. Even as they turned and ran, some of the Tingur collapsed as Walker’s magic found them. They dropped to the ground, flopping like gigged fish, blood fountaining from their mouths, streaming from ears, eyes, and noses.

“They’re gone,” Niklas said, too exhausted and in too much pain to feel exultant about the victory.

He turned to Walker, who stood stock-still, arm upraised, unmoving. Tears streamed down Walker’s face, and he had gone pale. His voice was rough as he continued his chant.

“You can stop now—they’re gone,” Niklas said, worry beginning to prickle at the back of his neck. “You did it. You turned the battle for us. We won.”

Walker’s chant rumbled on, reaching a crescendo as if he had not heard a word Niklas had said. He wrested his outstretched hand closed in a fist in a sudden, violent movement, and gasped. His head fell forward, chin to chest, and his arm lowered, but otherwise, Walker was motionless except for heavy, labored breathing.

Niklas watched Walker carefully. “Walker?”

Walker lifted his head slowly, and his expression was baleful. “I did what you ordered, Captain. Only because the magic isn’t right, the working went wrong. I meant to make them ill. But that’s not what happened.”

Niklas felt a growing cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He glimpsed horrors in Walker’s eyes. “What did you do?” Niklas asked quietly.

“The magic ruptured their bellies and ripped their entrails apart,” Walker replied, his voice tight with his struggle to hold on to his sanity. “
I
ripped them apart,” he added, loathing clear in his voice. He was breathing shallowly, trembling.

“So at the end—” Niklas started. Walker cut him off.

“At the end I finished what I started,” Walker said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. “They were suffering. They could have lain there for candlemarks, dying in agony. So I snuffed out their light.”

Walker’s eyes had the wide-pupil, glazed look of someone in shock. He had not heard Ordel come up behind Niklas. He glanced at Walker, who appeared more unhinged with every passing moment, then to Niklas, then beyond them to the dozens of bloody corpses that littered the camp near the break in the wall. He shot an icy glare at Niklas, and approached Walker carefully.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Ordel said gently. “Let’s get you down below.” He reached for Walker’s arm, but Walker wrenched it away and backed up a few steps.

“Don’t you understand? I didn’t mean to kill them,” Walker said pleadingly. “I only wanted to bring them down. It wasn’t supposed to work like that.” He swallowed hard, his voice ragged. “I didn’t even know that could happen until I felt them tearing apart.”

Ordel nodded. “It’s not your fault,” he soothed. “The magic is unpredictable. There’s no way you could have known. Please, come below. I can help you forget.”

Walker was shuddering uncontrollably, his breath coming in sobs. “I don’t deserve to forget,” he snapped. “I should be out there burying those bodies myself.
I
did that to them. I’m supposed to be a healer, and I ripped those men to shreds.”

“I take responsibility,” Niklas said. “I gave the order. I forced you to do it. And you saved lives—you saved our soldiers.”

“I felt them die,” Walker whispered. “I felt the first one die, and I didn’t stop. Torven take my soul, I didn’t stop and I knew what was happening.” He wavered on his feet as if he might collapse. Ordel had moved several steps closer. He grabbed Walker’s arm.

“Sleep,” Ordel commanded. Walker’s eyes rolled up toward the back of his head and his body fell to the ground.

“What in the name of Torven did you make him do?” Ordel snapped.

Niklas was leaning against the ruined wall, trying to remain on his feet. He stared at the fallen healer, and let out a deep breath. “I ordered him to slow down the Tingur,” he replied. “I didn’t expect him to kill them. I just wanted him to make them sick.” His legs were shaking so badly from the strain of
standing despite his injuries that he let himself slide down the wall to sit, and even that brought a gasp of pain.

Ordel knelt next to Walker. “He’s a healer,” he said reprovingly. “He wasn’t even an army healer. He’s never seen action before.”

“I was trying to save our men,” Niklas said, and the pain, weariness, and self-reproach came out as anger. “I didn’t know. And he did save lives on our side. First blood is always the hardest.”
Sweet Esthrane, I sound hard and bitter
, Niklas thought.

Ordel picked Walker up in his arms like a wounded child. “I’ll see what I can do for him, blur the memories, try to make sure he wakes up in better shape.” His feelings about the subject were clear in his face. “I’ll send someone back up for you.”

Ayers came around the side of the wall just as Ordel disappeared in the cellars. “Glad you’re alive, Captain,” he said. “But you don’t look so good.”

Niklas let out a deep breath, and tried to ignore the lancing pain. “How did it go?”

Ayers grimaced. “I don’t have a count yet. Fewer dead than wounded—on our side, at least. The Tingur come at us like wildcats just let out of the bag, but they’re lousy hand-to-hand. I think they get most of their hits in because they’re so damn unpredictable.”

He paused. “What happened, at the end? All of a sudden, the Tingur went down and started purging blood. It scared me shitless.”

Niklas told him. Ayers was silent for a moment. “War goes like that,” he said finally. “If you live through the battle, the dead get their vengeance in your dreams.”

“What about the rest of the Tingur?” Niklas asked.

“The ones who didn’t die ran off. They’re not much more
than a mob,” Ayers said. “I don’t know what Lysander’s promised them, or how they think that getting themselves killed in battle helps out Torven, but it’s a bit like slaughtering mad dogs. Easy and horrible at the same time.”

“There’s one more thing,” Ayers added. “Carr and a handful of men went after the Tingur. I called for them to stop, but they kept going. There weren’t enough of our men to run the Tingur to ground, but they might have wanted to shadow them back to their camp.”

“Damn.” Niklas paused, trying to catch his breath when a spasm in his back nearly made him black out. “When Carr gets back, I want to see him.”

“If he comes back,” Ayers replied. “He didn’t bring all his gear back to camp with him, so my bet is he’ll go out scouting again. How do we know the difference between when he’s out spying and when he’s gone rogue?”

“Good question.” Niklas shifted, and bit back a curse at the pain. “I think Ordel is going to leave me up here as long as possible to make me suffer for what happened to Walker,” Niklas said. “I’d be much obliged for some help.”

Ayers got under his arm and Niklas choked back a cry of pain as he rose to his feet. “I have a flask down with my things,” Ayers offered. “Let’s get below, and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Much obliged,” Niklas grated through clenched teeth. “Whiskey will help,” he said.
But it won’t, not really
, he thought.
Because when you sober up, the dead are still just as dead
.

J
ARLE WAS YOUR FRIEND, AND HE’S DEAD,” CARENSA
said, daring to stare down Vigus Quintrel.

She had been back at Torsford for a day, not yet physically recovered from the last battle, though she doubted she would ever forget the bloodshed she had seen. Now, alone in the mage’s workshop with Quintrel long after the others had gone to bed, Carensa could not hold back.

“And I have already told you how sorry I am that such a thing happened,” Quintrel replied. Carensa could almost believe him. Quintrel’s voice was appropriately sincere, his manner just the right degree of concerned.
Almost
. Calculation glinted in Quintrel’s eyes, something that had not been there before.
Or
, she thought with a sigh,
she had been too naïve to see it
.

“You’re influencing Rostivan, so it wasn’t really his decision to take us to the battlefield. It was yours.” Carensa knew she was on dangerous ground. Yet if anything of the old Vigus remained, Carensa felt duty-bound to be his conscience.

Quintrel turned away. “We must make it clear that an alliance with us—as equals, not as servants—has its benefits.” He softened his tone. “These are desperate times, Carensa,”
Quintrel continued. Carensa could still hear the charisma in his voice, though it no longer swayed her.

“There’s a moment when the wind is changing, when a ship has to fill its sails or miss its chance,” Quintrel went on. “This is Donderath’s moment. The old ways are gone. The slate has been wiped clean. We stand in a moment of remaking, when the future of the entire Continent is as malleable as putty.” His eyes were alight with passion—or madness.

“Can’t you feel it? We are alive at this moment for a reason, Carensa. We are mages at this moment because destiny has willed it. We have an opportunity that only comes once every millennium—to change the course of history and make of it what we want.”

Funny
, she thought,
I never realized how he calculates every word, every gesture to get a response. It’s like he’s rehearsed it all for effect. Nothing is spontaneous
.

“I know that the kingdom is a tinderbox,” Carensa said, choosing her words carefully. “Rostivan set the Arkalas back on their heels—for now. But what about Lysander? Or the Solveigs? All I see is squabbling for territory as everything falls to Raka around us.”

Quintrel looked at her with pity. “That’s because you don’t have the gift of foresight. Chaos is a process when great things are born. It’s a forge, a crucible. It makes us stronger so we can seize the best the future offers.” The orb with its
divi
spirit hung in a pouch on a leather strand around Quintrel’s neck. Even with the string drawn shut, Carensa could see a glow from the top of the pouch. The
divi
was listening.

He’s speaking in platitudes
, Carensa thought,
the kind he might use to whip a crowd up into a fervor. When did I become immune?

“It didn’t make Jarle stronger,” Carensa said quietly. “It made him dead.”

“Jarle wasn’t strong enough for the future that’s coming,” Quintrel snapped. “The more you and the other mages help Rostivan, the more we prove our worth. We need soldiers to keep the peace and defend our interests,” Quintrel explained, his eyes alight with the promise of his vision. “And they need to understand that without us, they cannot get and keep the power they desire.” The
divi
’s glow surged and then dimmed. Carensa was certain the spirit was paying attention.

“Rostivan considers us disposable—and replaceable,” Carensa said, lifting her chin. “Is that how you see us?”

Quintrel’s expression softened into a smile, and for an instant, it was easy to believe he was the same mentor who had rescued her from the Great Fire. “Carensa. How can you doubt me? You could never be replaced. Each of you have such special gifts. You are all precious.”

His voice is saying all the right things, but his eyes are cold as ice
, Carensa thought.
And he brought two new mages with him, one to replace Jarle and a spare. Vigus is the only mage who isn’t disposable. The rest of us are just tools to accomplish his vision
.

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Vigus,” Carensa said, ducking her head so that Quintrel did not meet her gaze. She did her best to suffuse her voice with the admiration she once felt. But she knew her eyes would give her away. “It was such a shock, being in the battle. I don’t think I’m quite recovered yet.” Once, Quintrel had doted on her as a promising pupil. Now Carensa bet on the fact that his pride would not allow him to see that the student no longer trusted the master.

“First blood is difficult,” Quintrel replied in a fatherly tone. “But when you look at the temporary difficulty from the
perspective of the grand vision… well, it changes how you see everything.”

Oh, it has
, Carensa thought.
But not in the way you intended
. “We should have the University up and functioning in a week or two,” Carensa said, changing subjects. She turned away, gesturing toward the library, but it was really to avoid making eye contact with Quintrel. “What then?”

“We must solve the problem of anchoring the magic,” Quintrel replied. “We’ve made two attempts to bring McFadden to us, and both failed. Dolan has the crystals, but oddly enough he hasn’t used them yet. We need to act before Dolan can make a move.”

“How?” Carensa asked warily.

“If we can’t control McFadden, we must destroy him,” Quintrel replied. “That’s why we must make our own people the dominant power in Donderath—and then the Continent.” Enthusiasm warmed his voice. “We’ll adapt to deal with the magic as it is now. Imagine a king of our choosing, with our mages at his side, creating a new kingdom as it should always have been, with mages coequal to the king.”

Is that what the
divi
has promised you?
Carensa thought.
And you believed it? Because I don’t see the
divi
sharing power, and how can a return to magic chaos and the storms help us?
She drew a deep breath.
This is against everything we worked for; the Vigus I thought I knew was too smart to fall for that
, she thought.
Vigus and the rest of us are being used as pawns
.

“That’s a lofty vision,” Carensa said, hoping she sounded appropriately impressed. “But if you destroy McFadden, how do you know it won’t make the magic wild again?”

Quintrel’s hand shifted unconsciously to the
divi
orb in its pouch. “McFadden is a Lord of the Blood,” he replied. “Blood magic is the oldest and most powerful. I’ve been studying. And
if we can’t capture McFadden, then I believe we can make his death serve us.” A strange light glinted in Quintrel’s eyes, the same as the glow from the
divi
orb.

“What does the University have to do with it?”

“The mages in the last war didn’t properly understand how magic was bound. Now we do. McFadden harnessed magic, but that magic is different. We need mages who can work with this new magic. And we must transfer—or wrest—magic’s anchor away from McFadden. He’s the weak point. Even if it means his death.” Quintrel sighed. “If only Lowrey hadn’t failed…”

Carensa held her breath to avoid speaking.
Lowrey? Vigus, what have you done? It was bad enough when you wanted to lock Blaine up, maybe for the rest of his life. But to kill him and risk the loss of magic, the return of the beasts, and the storms, when you worked so hard to anchor the magic to him?

“How?” Carensa asked.
If he trusts me, he’ll tell me the truth. Or else he sees right through me, and he’s setting me up
.

“Ally with his enemies, break his allies.” His smile was predatory, the glint in his eyes not altogether sane.

Carensa warmed her hands at the fireplace. She had taken a sudden chill. “Is Rostivan strong enough to do that?”

“By himself, no. But allied with all those who see McFadden as a threat… definitely.” He paused. “We’ve already made overtures to Lord Pollard and Lysander.”

I knew Vedran Pollard
, Carensa thought.
He was a nasty, backstabbing son of a bitch before the Great Fire, and I doubt his temperament has improved
.

Quintrel gave a mysterious smile and leaned back in his chair. “Our mages help them win their battles, then feed information back to me, and exert control.”

And if Pollard and Lysander realized we were betraying them, they’d kill us in a heartbeat
, Carensa thought.

Quintrel smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Carensa. Once you make up your mind to do whatever it takes, victory is certain. Rostivan wants to win. He’s open to any proposal that gets him power.” He paused. “That desire makes him easy to control. You might even argue that being manipulated by the
divi
to get what he wants falls under ‘whatever it takes.’ It’s not difficult to tempt someone who goes willingly.”

Whatever it takes
, she thought.
How many people’s deaths are factored into that equation? By Esthrane! He’s just declared that no price is too high to get what he wants. And I’m going to be right in the middle of it
.

Quintrel got to his feet. “Rostivan and I are due to meet. He spoke well of your involvement at the battle, Carensa. You impressed him. That’s important. The
divi
’s control is subtle; Rostivan isn’t a mindless puppet on strings. The coercion works best when he believes he is making up his own mind.” He paused. “I trust you’re recovered from the exertion of the outing?”

Carensa managed a smile. “I’m just a little tired.”

It was impossible for her to read Quintrel’s expression. Quintrel would be a formidable adversary. Whether or not he knew it, that’s exactly what he had become.

“But after all the effort you put into helping McFadden bring back the magic, if you kill him, won’t it all be for naught?” She did her best to make the question sound completely academic.

“Magic wasn’t always harnessed for human use,” Quintrel replied, falling into the tone he used to lecture students. “Go back far enough, and the Lords of the Blood didn’t inherit their power, they seized it on their own. Since McFadden won’t cooperate with us to let us join with him to re-anchor the magic, then we must do the same.” He met her gaze, and his eyes were alight with ambition and madness.

“Kill McFadden, and the slate is wiped clean. No mortal
Lords of the Blood remain. The
divi
has helped us find old records. With its help, we can name our own Lords of the Blood, cement our own dynasty of mages, shape magic as we deem it should be,” he said with the fervor of a convert.

“Can you do that? Truly?” Carensa replied, aghast. “Name your own Lords of the Blood?”

Quintrel nodded. “It’s what McFadden will have to do, if he lives long enough to try to re-anchor the power. And if he gets that chance, it will lock us out of true power for generations, unless we kill his chosen. And that will become much more difficult once they have been anointed Lords of the Blood.”

Carensa tried to hide her shock. She replayed the conversation with Quintrel in her mind.
Vigus isn’t just a danger to Blaine. He’s a danger to the mages, to the soldiers, and to Donderath. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it
, she concluded with a sigh.

That evening, Carensa sat by the window in her room, watching the rain.
I remember watching the raindrops run down the windowpane when I was a child
, Carensa thought, keeping the same raindrop in view as it made its way down the glass.
How much less complicated things were then!

She rehashed her alternatives, and found none of them to be promising. Going against Quintrel head-on was impossible. Even with the brittle new magic, his power was much stronger than hers. An outright coup would just mean death, her own and the deaths of any who came to her aid. There would only be one opportunity, and it would likely be fatal for both Quintrel and his attackers.
My magic is translation. I can barely light a candle with magic. What can I possibly do?

The knock at her door startled her. Carensa reluctantly left her chair and went to greet her visitor. Guran stood in the doorway with a pot of tea.

“I didn’t think you looked well at dinner,” he said. “I brought you some tea. May I come in?”

Carensa moved to the side to allow him to enter. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve quite recovered from the battle.”

Guran placed the tray on her desk, and poured a cup for each of them. “Should I be worried?”

Carensa shrugged. “No more than before,” she replied. With Quintrel in the building, it was unwise to speak plainly. And even though she knew Guran could temporarily block them from being overheard, Carensa did not know whether or not Quintrel could sense it. She did not want Quintrel to question her loyalty. Too much was at stake.
I don’t dare have Vigus doubt me. If he isn’t completely sure of me, I won’t have the access when I need it. We have to be very, very careful until then
.

Carensa shook her head. “I just never expected to be anywhere close to a battle. And then, to see Jarle die…” It required no acting on her part to look distressed.