Shadow Magic

CHAPTER FIFTEEN





CAIUS

What an adventure this is going to be, I thought as I followed Alcibiades through the secret corridor—a course of action I’d never been quite so lucky before in my life to take. Secret corridors, however, were apparently all the rage in the architecture of the Ke-Han palace, and we were lucky enough to have Lord Temur, who knew them all, as our guide.

I imagined Josette was cranky chiefly because she’d wanted to tear the palace down around our ears, but Lord Temur had pointed out how foolish that would be when it seemed that Fiacre had gone missing, along with Lieutenants Casimiro and Valery. It was a favorite strategy of the Emperor when dealing with powerful enemies, he’d explained. Instead of trying to overmatch them—a costly, tiresome endeavor—one just took hostage someone close to them. It was much less messy.

I almost admired his efficiency.

“You needn’t look so happy about all this,” Josette whispered to me. There would have been more, I suspected, except we were all trying to be quiet.

“It is quite possible that we are moving in the same direction as the young prince,” Lord Temur cautioned us, holding up a hand before he switched directions, leading us down the narrowest staircase it had ever been my pleasure to be squeezed through. I couldn’t even imagine how Alcibiades’ shoulders fit, not to mention Josette’s skirts. “These passageways were designed for servants, and so they are kept well hidden from the rest of the palace. Yet that does not mean we should engage in any loud outbursts.”

“I’m just glad there are no bastion-damned mirrors every which way,” Alcibiades muttered.

Aside from a grim expression and darkened eyes, Alcibiades had actually been surprisingly acquiescent about the sudden turn our lives had taken. Perhaps it was something to do with the sudden need for alacrity and caution—and my friend the general had risen most admirably to the occasion. His conduct was more like the soldier in him coming to the forefront. I felt safe and sound in the knowledge that he remained my ally, though the air of seriousness enshrouding him did force one to shiver.

“This will take you to the stables,” Lord Temur said, stopping at a fork before us. Down the darkened hallway there were no lights; it would be all fumbling for purchase from here on out. “You will turn left three times, and right once. If you mistake the directions, I believe you will find yourself in the barracks, which I do not suggest.”

“Hm,” Josette snorted.

We were all on the edge of a blade.

“We will continue to the location where the rest of your colleagues are being held,” Lord Temur went on, his voice hushed. I couldn’t see his eyes, nor did I know him well enough to gauge how he felt about his plan. Betrayal in the Ke-Han was a different matter entirely from betrayal in Volstov. The latter was unforgivable, it was true; but the former was a fate worse than death, a curse to future lives, and unending retribution. It would not assuage Lord Temur that what he was doing was the right thing, for “right” meant nothing to his bloodline. What a ridiculous system—where history dictated a man’s loyalties, and a family’s pride meant more than an individual’s moral honor. It would make for a fascinating study, and if I was not killed in the next twenty-four hours I hoped to have the chance to pursue that course of inquiry further. “That is,” Lord Temur continued, “if they are still being held there. It is possible that the Emperor has become aware of my absence and considers it a threat—a breach in the security of his plans. If that is the case, then their location will surely have changed, and I will prove no more help to you.”

“You’ve been help enough already,” I said, hoping somehow to soothe him. I could sense the turmoil of his thoughts, open and susceptible as I was to them, with the unsteady rhythm of his quickening heartbeat.

At last, Alcibiades had turned to me, though he kept turning until he was looking at Josette. “Here,” he said, and held out a knife—it seemed it might have been stolen from one of our suppers. “I know that one’s armed. But just in case. It never hurts.”

“Most kind,” Josette replied, and then, with less acerbity, “and I thank you. It’s the most practical gift a man has ever given me.”

Was this all, I wondered, that the great General Alcibiades would offer me?

“You know,” I told him thoughtfully, “we might be separated forever.”

“None too soon,” Alcibiades grunted.

“And this is our last chance to bid one another good-bye,” I said. “I should think, after all the time we’ve spent together…”

“No need,” Alcibiades cut me off. “You’re more resilient than that. I’ll see you when this is over with, bastion help me, and you’ll be just as annoying then as you are now.”

My heart full of gladness, I knew there was no more I could squeeze out of him. I was grateful enough, as well, for his attempt at kind words, and squeezed his forearm as I moved past him. After that, we were on our own: turn left three times, then right once. In that direction lay the stables, and horses; Josette and I would steal a mount each and ride off in separate directions. She would use her Talent—pulling lightning straight from the cloudless skies if need be—and I would use mine. Whatever means were necessary, it was our intention that one of us must get through to the capital, while Alcibiades and Temur attempted to distract the attention of the Emperor and his forces with a fancy to-do over by the prisoners.

It was foolhardy, inadequately thought out, too slow, and all around a probable waste of effort, but we had no other option. If our horses were winged beasts, then we might have stood a chance, but as it was, nothing short of pure miracle would have us to Thremedon and back again in time to rescue our compatriots. All that was left was vengeance in their names, and I intended to wreak it.

All the while, I would have to trust in Alcibiades’ resourcefulness, for he was just as stubborn as I. That was why we were such excellent friends.

We had to keep our heads clear, and our goals sensible. It made no sense at all to assume there would be no casualties in a situation like this one, and I could tell Josette was thinking equally grim thoughts with equal practicality as we slipped through the darkened, quiet passageways like a whisper of a secret. The only difference between us was that it didn’t sit as well with her as it did with me—but then, I was so used to sacrifice.

As I settled my hand upon the final door, I wondered if this was the way the little princeling had stolen out in the dead of night, absconding with Alcibiades’ poor horse in the process. I, too, was playing an important role in Ke-Han history.

It wasn’t often a man was given the chance to play such a role both at home and afar. I hoped that Alcibiades was given the chance to appreciate it.

The stables were quiet, save for the occasional whinny of a horse, or the rustle of Josette’s skirts as she bunched them in her hands to avoid the hay, or the stamp of a restless stallion snorting as he scented us.

“Do you have any particular preference when it comes to a mount?” I asked Josette.

“Something that can carry all this,” Josette muttered, gesturing to her skirts.

She chose a larger mount, and I something of a slim little filly; the latter seemed as though she would be exceptionally fast, and I had always wanted to ride a Ke-Han racing horse. The beast huffed as I scrambled onto her without a saddle.

“There are two ways out of the capital,” I told Josette. “I shall take the inauspicious one, which lies to the northeast.”

A lucky thing that the Ke-Han capital was laid out on a grid. The inauspicious direction was said to bring terrible luck to all those who traveled out of the gate, which led me to wonder why they had built a gate in that corner of the city in the first place. It troubled me very little to think of curses or jinxes at a time like this; and anyway, I was being kind, thinking of Josette’s safety before my own.

“This isn’t going to work at all,” Josette said, though her hands remained steady, even as she steered her horse out of his stall. “Are you sure there’s no way for you to use your Talent to get in contact with the city?”

“It isn’t at all like calling lightning down from the sky,” I sniffed. “For you, the sky is always listening. But the Esar, as you know, is a very busy man.”

“Whatever that means,” Josette replied. “Southwest exit it is. Try not to get yourself killed.”

“My dear,” I replied, “I wish the very same for you.”

I did hope I was given the chance to see if these famed horses were as fast as legend would have it. The slim creature beneath me hardly seemed exceptional—but then, that was what most people said about me. We were both equally suited to our mounts, Josette’s powerful and unforgiving, and mine small but unexpectedly fierce.

I was just about to remark on what it meant that Lord Temur had not bid her a proper good-bye when a clattering sound against the stones of the walkway caught my attention.

Ah, how I wished right then for the cramped, close darkness of the secret passageways. But no: There we were, in full daylight, exiting the stables together, quite conspicuous, without any direction to turn, much less hide; and there were guards rushing toward us, dozens of them at least. I didn’t know whether they’d been lying in wait for us, or if it was simply their very good fortune to run across two of the three remaining diplomats on their way past the gates. I found that I didn’t much care for the reason behind it, though, and set instead to coming up with something nasty for them. It would be difficult to get them all. But at least half I could manage with more general visions—mothers dying, fathers leaving, children screaming, the broadest fare possible—while Josette found some way to take care of the rest.

Beside me, the lady in question swore in a very unladylike fashion.

“I can’t chance hitting them when they’re this close. Not unless I want to take down half the palace along with us, as well. And there goes any chance for warning the Esar about the others.”

My horse whinnied and tossed her head fretfully. Perhaps my conjuring a vision was bothering her. Animals were far more perceptive than people in that regard. They could smell the thing coming a mile away.

“Stop right there,” said one of the guards, leveling his spear in a decidedly undiplomatic fashion. “No one’s to pass through the gates, entering or exiting. Imperial orders.”

Josette heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her reaching for the knife Alcibiades had given to her.

“Think you can handle those seven on the left?” she asked with a delightful sense of grim humor.

I had never attempted to use my visions on a group so large. Then again, there were so many people depending on us, and I wasn’t about to be cheated out of my place in the history books just because a handful of foolish guards didn’t know to fall back when there were magicians of the Basquiat standing before them.

“Dismount,” said the same guard, presumably the man in charge, “and we’ll escort you to safety.”

Josette drew out her knife. I patted my horse’s neck to soothe her before I unleashed what I’d cooked up. The last thing I needed was for the vision to affect her; she’d buck me, throw my concentration, probably kill me in the process, in which case there was no point to the ploy at all.

“If you refuse to come peacefully,” the guard began.

I gathered bits and bats of fear around me like the tendrils of a cloud. They were vague images, flashes of loss and unhappy memory, generalized and therefore clumsy. The more specific I was the more effective I was. This was the equivalent of throwing a net into the waters and hoping the holes were just the right size to catch the fish I was looking for. One or two would be too little; they would slip right through. Those I would have to trust Josette to take care of—and I did trust her.

What did the Ke-Han fear most? Betrayal, loss of honor, dragons.

The vision was gathering strength, and I was pulled along with it. I could feel it growing less and less transparent; it was almost enough to toss before me like a barrier between myself and these strange men.

Just then, the earth began to shake beneath us. It rumbled ferociously, cracking down the center of the gate path like a great snake slithering through water. The stones themselves parted as though they were no more than liquid; the sounds they made were unlike anything I’d heard before from any earthquake or explosion.

It seemed as if our mutual friend General Alcibiades had been lingering where he ought not to have been. Why, the dear worried about us far more than he’d let on!

A geyser burst up from the hole and my horse reared, her eyes white-rimmed with panic. One of the guards screamed and disappeared beneath the ground, while the other men scrambled about, trying to hold formation for a few brief, useless moments before they scattered, desperate to escape the earth itself as rock and dirt jutted upward, tossing heavy paving stones about as though they were nothing more than pebbles, and destroying the carefully-thought-out Ke-Han architecture every which way.

“Go!” Josette called to me, over the howls of the guards and the thundering of the earth. Her horse seemed less upset by that turn of events than my own, though it was dancing restlessly.

“Honestly,” I said, sharing a look with her before turning my own mount in the direction of the inauspicious gate. “He might have hit us!”





KOUJE

I still remembered the day my lord had come to tell me there were no more dragons. It was after the fires in the great dome had been doused, and after the tigers had all been gathered up from the capital and returned to their menagerie. It had been in the early days of the provisional treaty—which was, I’d discovered, when Lady Antoinette and her companion had learned our customs—before the negotiations had begun in earnest. Before the Emperor had taken his life for honor, leaving his eldest son a madman and his second son a fugitive.

I still remembered that day because I remembered the feeling it had given me. Many loyal servants who’d devoted their lifetimes to fighting in the war had felt greatly displaced after its ending.

For those of my generation, the war had been a fact of life since birth. Many had assumed it would end at our deaths, and not before that. So for a great number of people, perhaps even all of us, the end of the war had meant a feeling of confusion and dissatisfaction. No one knew his place in life without the war to give it structure. We were all like the tigers, turned loose in the city streets and found again a bare day later, hiding ourselves in familiar, small spaces. It was all that we knew—a way of life better suited to us than freedom.

My own place, however, had always been at Mamoru’s side.

There had been no uncertainty in my heart at all over the absence of those metal beasts. In its place there was only a kind of peace, and perhaps a relief that came from having served one’s purpose during a difficult time.

I’d never imagined I would find myself riding at Mamoru’s side once again, between the standard-bearer and the scouts, with a legion of foreigners in red at our backs.

I hadn’t been able to speak with Mamoru properly since we’d left Volstov, so I couldn’t know how the new responsibility was weighing on him. The colors were all wrong, and the mountains should have been between us and the sunset, not the sunrise.

At the very least, there was color in Mamoru’s cheeks again—and we both owed that to this foreign land and their foreign magicians—some the very same men and women who had created the dragons in the first place. They were all very clever. I could grant them that.

“Ke-Han blood magic,” Lady Antoinette had repeated, her hands giving away what her face did not. “We have heard rumors, of course, but I never imagined such a thing might… It is forbidden, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I’d nodded. Forbidden. A shameful act to take against one’s enemies, let alone one’s own kin. It was a part of our culture, in that the warlords still pledged a vial of their blood to the current Emperor, but that was more of a symbol, signifying the trust it took to give one’s lord such power voluntarily. The understanding was that it would never be used, that it was a mark of their loyalty. To pervert even that was unimaginable. The gods would see to Iseul’s punishment in the next life, if not in this one.

“We can fix it,” Antoinette had said hesitantly, as though thinking aloud. “It would be best if we could get the object from your current Emperor, of course, but it certainly isn’t necessary. Blood magic operates on the principle that even when lost, a part of you will still wish to return to the whole. The whole, in turn, recognizes that part as something of its own, and a kind of… resonance occurs between the two. All we have to do is change it so that Lord Mamoru’s body no longer recognizes the blood as something lost. It would be far simpler if we could just cast off the things we lost like a lizard with its tail, but we, as a race, are so inconveniently built.”

“This is something that can be accomplished, then,” I’d said, careful not to misunderstand.

“Yes. Luckily our magic, as perhaps you might know, rests in the blood instead of drawing directly from the Well, as it did once,” she’d explained. “That’s how we know more about it. It’s different from yours, which as far as I understand involves a great deal of bartering with spirits and the like.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” I’d said. “Our magic is based in the land, in borrowing its power. Any man can use such a thing if he trains his mind around it. The details of it—the secrets—are quite well kept by those men who possess them. Only a rare few are given that position. The waters are not channeled, but…”

“Perhaps we will be able to study your wild rivers one day,” Antoinette had said. “One day, when all this is over.”

“Thank you for helping him,” I added, allowing the gratitude I felt to seep into the words.

“His own brother,” Lady Antoinette had said, this time conveying everything with her face, in a way that would have been considered most shameful in the capital, my lord’s home.

I found it fitting somehow, after everything we’d been through.

“So we can help him,” the Margrave named Royston told me. “A magical medicine, I suppose. One we’ve perfected since…” His lips twitched, and again I was reminded of the differences between our two peoples. “Well, since you-know-what.”

I neglected to tell them that the snake in the Well had, in part, been Iseul’s idea—a magic based upon the same feverish principles that plagued my lord.

Their medicine was better than any potion fed to him when he was little; it was no simple tea. It had been created to counteract the effects of poisoning from afar—Ke-Han blood magic, the same that had been used in the war against them.

It was strange to think they should be helping us. I hoped the gods would forgive us in time.

“This shall stand between his blood and… well, his blood, I suppose,” Margrave Royston explained to me. He seemed to have taken pity on me—no doubt because I looked like a dead thing, without sleep and without peace—and so placed a hand on my arm as we waited for Mamoru to wake. “We shall hope it lasts long enough to stop it at its source.”

“As you have also done in the past,” I said.

“Well, that,” Royston agreed.

It was a miracle to see my lord so well so quickly, though his limbs were weak and his coloring still paler than it had been. Time was of the essence, nonetheless. The moment he was standing, he said he was ready, and I allowed the lie. I even helped him saddle his horse.

I watched him like a hawk for any signs of relapse, but there were magicians among our number, and Margrave Royston had assured me they would do all they could.

“The Esar is behind this endeavor,” he said. “Take comfort from the knowledge that he needs you.”

I did, however grim that comfort might have been.

On the first night there were fires burning in the mountains, though from where we made camp I couldn’t tell who was winning. Instead of trying to judge what was impossible to judge, I went to find my lord, who had retreated to his own tent since the sun had set, and hadn’t emerged once.

I knelt as I entered. Then, when Mamoru did not bid me rise, I raised my head cautiously.

He was sitting against the far canvas wall, limp and as if still in sleep, though he was sitting, his head unbowed. His hair was braided as it had once been for his victories in the long war, but his clothing was new and a strange foreign imprint on the rest of him, which was so familiar to me. They should have at least clad us in blue, though that moment would prove striking in a print. When the art was made of that day, as I knew it would be, the color would serve as quiet commentary, that which would remain unsaid between the other lords.

“My prince,” I whispered.

“It smells like dragons,” he said, opening his eyes. In the flickering light of the lamp he’d lit, I could not read his expression. “The smoke from the mountains. Are we doing the right thing?”

“My lord,” I said, not rising from my place. “Iseul has tried to kill you. He has broken two of our oldest laws; he has harmed a brother and he has manipulated the blood. It is your place—no, it is your duty—to make right what he has broken. Think of what your father would want if he were here to offer his counsel.”

Mamoru nodded slowly though he didn’t seem convinced.

“They—the Esar, and his men, that is—intend for me to kill him.”

“He is too dangerous to be kept a prisoner,” I reasoned, hating myself for being the one to speak such things. Mamoru’s arm, at least, was no longer bandaged from where I’d beaten him to save his life, and the bruises were beginning to fade. Those wounds, at least, healed quickly. There were others—some of them I bore—that would take more time than that.

Slowly I rose, crossing the distance between myself and my lord to kneel properly at his side.

“When you are Emperor, Mamoru, you may take your summers anywhere you like. Even in a small fishing village in Honganje should you so choose.”

Mamoru turned to me, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“You look as though you’re headed to an execution instead of home,” I said.

Mamoru laughed, more quietly than I’d grown used to. “I am headed to an execution,” he said. “Though hopefully it is not my own.”

“The offer remains,” I said. “I told you I would take you to my sister’s home in the mountains. We’ve come this far.”

“Then I might meet her after all,” Mamoru said, drawing his knees up to his chest and turning his gaze into the lamplight.

There was so much of the Emperor in him. Looking at him was sometimes like catching an accidental glimpse of the sun. Both made my nose sting and my eyes hurt.

“She’ll likely kill me for bringing an imperial entourage into her house without forewarning,” I added. “We’ll have to write to her first, in any case.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Mamoru said. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course she’s wonderful,” I said. “If you’re willing to wake up earlier than the gods in the morning to a punishing day spent in a boat smaller than a hollowed gourd.”

“I happen to think I’d make an excellent fisherman,” Mamoru pointed out. “Fear of fish notwithstanding.” The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, and when he spoke next there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Do you think we’ll make it in time?”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t believe that we would have come so far only to fail in the final hour.”

He smiled bleakly. “I hope you’re right. Think how disappointed Goro would be if we ruined his play.”

“You must forgive me my overconfidence in this one small area,” I said, leaning my shoulder against his. “Since we have dared to accomplish the impossible so far, I find it hard to imagine that we mightn’t do it here as well.”

“The only question, then, is whether we will arrive at the capital in time to save the diplomats,” Mamoru said, and turned his face toward the far wall.

“Yes,” I said. I didn’t envy them their positions; nonetheless, I wished we were with them already.