Magefall Page 8

  Forcing a smile he congratulated Wren and then left her wolfing down food from her saddlebags while he fashioned a sling. There was a lot that could be salvaged from the wagons but that would have to wait. Unless they got the girl back to Master Yettle he knew she would die. Danoph thought both the girl and her mother were too fragile to ride so he created a pouch which hung between their saddles. It was crude and the horses didn’t like it but they would have to cope for the time being. Even though he knew it would leave tracks that would be easy to follow, he’d considered taking one of the wagons. In the end he decided against it as it would slow them down too much and they needed to set a fair pace back to their community. He didn’t know exactly how long the girl had and didn’t want to take any chances.

  When Wren saw what he’d done to bury the others she embraced the Source and began to fill the grave. Sweat trickled down the sides of her face from the effort, but with one smooth movement she covered the bodies with loose soil. Normally such a task wouldn’t have been difficult for her, but she was already exhausted and moving the earth seemed to drain her remaining stamina.

  With Wren dozing in her saddle and the others still comatose it was up to Danoph to lead the horses towards home. Left only with his thoughts for company he focused on the strong impulse that had drawn him here. The sense of despair had faded a little. It was too late for the others but a splinter of concern lurked at the back of his mind for the girl. She was still in danger. He didn’t know if she was special, only that he’d not been able to save the others but she still had a chance. Her road was still there, running into the distance, for now.

  CHAPTER 8

  With a grunt of pain Balfruss got up from the floor of his room where he’d been kneeling for a few hours. His knees creaked and popped alarmingly and pain shot down his back. He walked around in a circle for a while and eventually the aches faded. It was another uncomfortable reminder of his age and the relentless march of the years.

  Disappointment washed through him as he cleared away the candles, incense and washed away the chalk symbols he’d scrawled onto the wooden floor. After replacing the thick rugs he carefully checked to see if he’d left anything that might look suspicious. In the past it wouldn’t have mattered, but at the moment fear of magic was so great he didn’t want to take any chances. The last thing he needed was the maid spreading gossip about something she’d noticed when she came to change the sheets.

  Dark thoughts about magic inevitably led to the fall of the Red Tower and Garvey’s apparent descent into madness. He couldn’t deny the truth. The man that he knew was gone and he’d lost another friend. On days like these, when he truly felt alone, Balfruss wondered if he should have remained in the far north across the Dead Sea.

  He’d been cooped up alone in his room for too long. In need of company and a distraction he went down to the common room which was busy with people eating and drinking. Their conversations washed over him but Balfruss wasn’t really paying attention as his thoughts remained elsewhere. He found a quiet table and absently ordered some food and a drink while pondering what had gone wrong.

  Summoning was not something he’d even been taught at the Red Tower. Nor was it a topic ever mentioned in public as the old Grey Council had forbidden its practice. As a student he’d heard rumours about why it had been banned but they’d never been confirmed. Allegedly a student had accidentally contacted an entity beyond the Veil and the consequences had been dire. He’d not given it any further thought until a few years ago when he’d journeyed across the Dead Sea. The tribes living in the emerald jungle had shown him many forms of magic that he’d never imagined, including summoning of a different sort. One that requested the presence of the spirit of a place, a genius loci.

  What he’d attempted tonight was a little different, but he’d been following the same principles. Balfruss had hoped there was a chance of it working. After hours of preparation and meditation all he had to show for it was two stiff and painful knees.

  As he ate his meal of spicy beef and red beans in plum sauce, he focused on the conversation around him for the first time. There was only one topic on everyone’s lips. Garvey. They were scared. Rumour had it that he was travelling north towards Zecorria but it was all speculation. No one dared get too close to the group. What if he decided to stay in Yerskania? What if he came south again instead and marched towards the capital? Who here could stop him and his band of rebel mages?

  Balfruss had told Tammy that it wasn’t his responsibility to deal with Garvey, which was true. Even so he knew that it was not something he could ignore. If magic was ever to be seen as a force for good then Garvey needed to be stopped. The only way that would happen was if another powerful mage got involved. With Eloise halfway around the world in the desert kingdoms he was the only one left.

  At another table in the room a merchant from Zecorria was explaining Regent Choilan’s new declaration. He intended to create an opposing force comprised of patriotic mages, but those at the merchant’s table thought it would be too little too late. Soldiers and steel couldn’t stand up to a mage and yet both Queen Morganse and the Regent were mobilising their armies. Balfruss also overheard a local woman talking about the increasing number of attacks on merchants travelling into Shael. Rooke, the western district, was still a lawless and abandoned wasteland that had been made worse by a new group of murderous bandits. The woman claimed they even had a mage working with them, but to Balfruss it sounded like more fearmongering. Everyone knew the Red Tower had been destroyed but there was a peculiar absence of conversation in the room on that subject.

  “It looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” said a familiar voice. “Mind if I join you for a drink?”

  Balfruss’s mouth fell open in surprise and he stared in silence like a simpleton. Vargus sat down opposite and waited for him to recover, sipping at his ale and glancing around the room at the crowd. It had been many years since he’d last seen Vargus, in a nowhere place between moments of time, and yet he’d not aged a day. If anything he looked a little younger than at their previous meeting. His hair had touches of brown in it, where once it had been mostly grey and silver. The backs of his hands had been covered with liver spots but now the skin was clear and tight.

  As before, he resembled a battered old mercenary or a weary caravan guard, dressed in worn leathers with a blade slung across his back. There were a dozen others like him in the tavern, which was why no one gave him a second glance. To them he was just another sword for hire.

  “I didn’t think the summoning had worked,” said Balfruss, still struggling with his surprise at seeing Vargus.

  The old warrior offered him a wry smile. “It didn’t, at least not in the way you’re thinking. It’s been a long time since anyone tried to contact me like that, which is why it caught my attention. I’m not a spirit of the earth or the air. You can’t bind me and call me by name.”

  “Then what are you?” he asked, and immediately regretted it.

  Vargus put down his ale and the genial expression trickled off his face. “We talked about that a few years ago. I once told you a little about what I am. Do not ask for more.”

  Balfruss was still reeling at seeing Vargus in person. He took a long gulp of ale and tried to gather his thoughts. “That might not be good enough any more.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Do you know what’s happened to the Red Tower?” he asked and Vargus nodded grimly. “We lost a lot of good people. They were murdered by an angry mob.”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot help you with that. My kind has only one immutable rule. We are not allowed to directly interfere in the affairs of mortals. If that’s why you asked me here, then I’ll leave now,” said Vargus, draining the last of his ale.

  “That’s not the reason,” said Balfruss, trying to stop Vargus from leaving. “Although it’s related. Does the name Akosh mean anything to you?”

  Vargus froze, half out of his seat, one hand resting on the back of
his chair. Moving slowly he lowered himself into his seat again. He gestured at the bar for two more drinks and waited until they’d been delivered before speaking in a low voice. He spoke so quietly his words would be swallowed up by the noise in the room, preventing anyone from eavesdropping.

  “Tell me everything,” said Vargus.

  Starting with Danoph’s visions of destruction, Balfruss told him about the seemingly inevitable fall of the Red Tower. Despite their best efforts to change the course of events the mob had arrived at the gates with burning torches. Anger warred with sadness inside when he thought of all that had been lost. It wasn’t just the school as buildings could be rebuilt. The children had been robbed of their future. Now most of them had been shipped off to a foreign country to start all over again. Learning how to master their magic would be difficult enough without having to adjust to a new culture with its own peculiar quirks and restrictions.

  “Most of our preparation paid off, we saved many items that have been placed in storage, but there was still a high price to pay. Some people stayed behind to give the rest of us time to escape with the children. Most of them died, including my friend, Choss, his mother-in-law and his son.”

  Vargus rocked back in his chair as if he’d been slapped. “I know him,” he said and then corrected himself. “I knew him. He was a good man. A champion.”

  “Now his widow, Munroe, is bent on revenge. I’ve been working with the Guardians and they discovered a spider, lurking in the shadows, manipulating others for her own ends. Akosh.”

  Vargus took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared off into the distance and Balfruss could see he was chewing something over, probably deciding how much he could share.

  “Are you certain she was responsible?” he finally asked.

  “She’s involved,” said Balfruss, before going on to tell Vargus about the orphanages and how Akosh was both their patron and the head of a cult devoted to her. “I don’t know how many orphanages she has, or where they’re located, but she and her people have their own hidden agenda. There was even a Guardian who followed Akosh. She killed a witness and then herself rather than be questioned about her involvement.”

  “So that’s how she did it,” muttered Vargus.

  “Did what?” asked Balfruss, knowing that he shouldn’t ask but he wanted some answers. Vargus didn’t say anything for a while, just sipped his ale, but he seemed to be considering something. Eventually he came to a decision. He leaned forward across the table and gestured for Balfruss to move closer.

  “I want your word. What I’m about to tell you must never pass your lips again. Not to a future wife, a child and not even on your deathbed many years from now.”

  “I swear it,” he promised.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” said the old warrior and Balfruss believed him. Vargus took a moment to settle himself before speaking. “For all things there is a season. Even the ancient tree, that has been a mute sentinel for centuries, witnessing the rise and fall of countless empires, must one day return to the earth. But it can bear fruit and be reborn anew. So it is with my kind. But unlike the tree, we can change. A long time ago, they used to call me the Weaver, but that power and the mantle now belong to another. Today I am a warrior and brother to all men and women who carry the sword. It began with the war and the Brotherhood. That is my path, for now at least.”

  Balfruss considered his words and thought back over all of the conversations they’d had in the past. He’d heard about the Brotherhood during the war and how it had bound the Seve warriors together into a united fighting force. It may not have changed the course of the war but it had given warriors hope and the will to keep going in the most desperate circumstances. The tales of sacrifice in Seveldrom during the war had even travelled as far as the west. In the last few years soldiers and warriors in other countries had also adopted the tenets of friendship, honour and sacrifice.

  The name Weaver tickled something at the back of his mind. A scrap of information he’d read in a dusty old book of ancient history. During the war he and Vargus had spoken about ancient religions, including the Twelve and their predecessors the Triumvirate. Balfruss thought one of the Twelve had been called the Weaver. For all he knew, that might have been Vargus in a former life.

  “Akosh reinvented herself,” said Balfruss, fumbling along. The old warrior said nothing, which he took as consent to continue. “She created a new religion in her own name.”

  “She used to be a patron to assassins,” said Vargus with a snort of derision. “For the most part they’re a mercenary and sociopathic bunch. Few wanted to believe their good luck was due to their devotion and prayers. It was expected that she would wither and die early on the vine, but she adapted.”

  “What can we do about her?”

  “You will do nothing. She will be dealt with by me,” said Vargus, in a voice that brooked no argument. “A rebirth was necessary for her to survive, but to use her followers to change the natural order is not permitted. It sounds like she is trying to shape the course of events.”

  “How will you—”

  “Do not ask that question,” said the old warrior. For a brief moment Balfruss was reminded that he wasn’t a man. He wasn’t even human. The power he glimpsed behind Vargus’s eyes made the Sorcerer turn his face away in fear.

  The conversations continued to flow all around while the two of them sat in a bubble of silence, both dissimilar from everyone else in their own way.

  “I have a suggestion,” said Vargus, breaking the hush hanging over their table. “Encourage the orphanages here in Perizzi, in the strongest terms, to consider a more stable faith. One which is likely to still exist in a few years. The Maker or the Blessed Mother.”

  “I will pass that on.”

  “How you deal with her mortal followers, and those involved in the fall of the Red Tower, is entirely your decision. Leave Akosh to me.”

  “I will, but you should know Munroe will not be easily sidetracked. She’s out for blood and I know of no power that can stop her,” said Balfruss. “Not even me.”

  He thought Vargus would ask him to speak to her again. Instead he merely frowned and shook his head. “That is her choice. I cannot interfere, but she will find no peace. Revenge will not bring them back.” Vargus took a few long pulls on his second ale and Balfruss knew he was running out of time.

  “What if I need to find you again?” he asked.

  “I will find you,” said Vargus, and Balfruss wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise. Without another word the old warrior passed through the crowd and went out of the front door. Few noticed him leave and no one turned their head to watch his progress.

  It made Balfruss wonder how many others like Vargus were out there, walking among them, living ordinary lives, and if he’d met any of them before.

  CHAPTER 9

  It had been many years since Munroe had crawled over the rooftops of Perizzi, but thankfully she had not forgotten all of her lessons. Her attempt to join the Silent Order, an elite group of assassins in Yerskania, had required months of training which often involved scrambling up and down walls or tiptoeing across rooftops without falling to her death. Unfortunately her assessment had not gone well and she’d been rejected as a suitable candidate. This was long before she’d learned how to fully control her Talent. The result had been some of the most unusual and improbable accidents that the authorities were still struggling to explain. At the very least her experience had taught her how to move quietly and go undetected.

  It was a long way down to the street and a fall from this height would break her neck. If the worst happened she could use her magic to cushion her fall, but she was trying to remain unnoticed.

  Tonight the city reeked. She’d forgotten about that in her time away. When the wind blew in the wrong direction it dredged up a stench from the port, flooding the streets with the smell of rotting fish, ripe piss, stale beer and suspicious meat sold by street vendors. She may have f
orgotten about the smells, but with them a flood of old memories returned. She remembered wasting countless hours in the Emerald Dragon, in a permanent alcoholic haze, trying to numb her boredom and self-pity. She remembered a month of cold and wet nights scrambling across the city with a man named Ben as part of her training to join the Silent Order. Mostly the smell made her remember the long and lonely nights when she’d lain in her bed, staring out of her window at the stars, hoping for better days and an end to her isolation.

  Her better days had been and gone. They’d died with her family. Now she was caught in between. Unable to move forward. Unwilling to step back in time and become the person she’d been before Choss. But not everything from her old life had been terrible.

  Munroe wasn’t properly focused on the task at hand and she mistimed a jump between buildings. Her left foot slipped on some wet roof tiles as she landed, sending her off balance. Before starting to slide down the roof, she dug her fingers into the pitted stone and quickly righted herself. She took a moment to catch her breath and check her route before proceeding again with a bit more caution.

  This part of the city was not one she’d visited often. The buildings were all comprised of shops and small taverns on the ground floor with apartments above the businesses. Many of the well-tended homes belonged to shop-owners but some were privately owned. It had taken Munroe two days of staking out Unity Hall to find who she wanted and another cautious night to find his home.

  Counting the windows she bypassed the first three and focused on the last two on the top floor. At this hour all of the windows were closed and there wasn’t a flicker of a candle or lantern from within. She could hear someone snoring loudly and a few creaks as the building settled but nothing else. The street below was deserted but just in case she kept low and spread her weight evenly across the roof.