Frieda cleared her throat. “The problem is rather more serious,” she pointed out. She turned and walked to the windows. “The Fists of Justice are in firm control.”
“And bent on making us pay for our sins,” Markus said. “Literally.”
Emily frowned. There was something in his voice…“Do you know them?”
“I had an uncle who was a devotee,” Markus said. “He would…he wasn’t a very important man, so no one really cared what he did. He was forty and he acted like he was twenty, holding wild parties and drinking from dusk till dawn. He never had any trouble getting friends to come, either. They knew he was good for wine, women and song.”
“I know the type,” Emily said.
“Everyone thought he was mad,” Markus added. “He partied in the night, then scourged himself in the day. He’d hurt himself, curse himself…he’d fast for long hours, pushing his body to the limits. He went on and on about how he was a sinner, about how he deserved to be punished for his crimes…he just never stopped. And then one day his heart gave out and that was that.”
Emily shuddered. “What did he do?”
“Nothing, as far as anyone knew,” Markus said. “He was a lesser son of a lesser branch on the family tree. Not important enough to be considered worthy marriage material, but too attached to the family wealth to cut ties and set off on his own. Maybe it was just the heavy drinking. Most sorcerers know better than to drink heavily.”
He shook his head. “But my uncle embraced their beliefs willingly. What happens when someone tries to impose such rules on an entire city?”
“They have something that looks like a god,” Emily said. “They might succeed.”
“They are succeeding,” Markus pointed out.
Emily felt cold. Once, years ago, she’d read a story where divine laws were divinely enforced. It had struck her as utterly horrific – the world had been bad for everyone, particularly women – even though the creature in charge hadn’t been a real god. But she knew there were people who would consider such a world to be ideal, especially if they were the ones on top. The Fists of Justice were already well on the way to turning Beneficence into a nightmare.
“Then we will have to stop them,” Emily said. She wondered if Alassa had seen the message yet. King Randor had been keeping her hopping over the last months, moving from castle to castle in hopes of tightening her ties to her nobility. “Whatever it takes.”
“Good luck,” Markus said. “How do you intend to proceed?”
“I wanted to consult with you about magic,” Emily said. She outlined what she’d sensed in the morning and how it linked to the chat parchments. “Is there any way to disrupt the link?”
Markus frowned. “I don’t believe so.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Allowing magic to flow from…from the entity to a staff might be more complicated than merely sending words, but it’s still magic. As long as the staffs were linked, magic would be able to run between them.”
“And then it flows into the spellwork.” Frieda turned and walked back to join them, her face grim. “Overpowering a wand-spell can be disastrous.”
“Perhaps we should concentrate on disrupting the spellware instead,” Emily mused. “And then the magic would flow in all directions.”
“Or explode,” Markus said. “We could even try to drain the power.”
“Only if we lured Justice into a prepared battleground,” Emily said. A necromancer could drain another magician of power, but it would cost them their sanity…if they survived the experience. Justice was powerful enough to overload and kill anyone stupid enough to try to drain him. “They would see the trap, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps,” Markus said. “We could use runes to steer magic away from him, if his spells started coming apart.”
Emily frowned. A normal spell would leak power until it finally collapsed, although that could take some time. But if Justice was something akin to a Mimic, and she suspected he had a lot in common with them, she was fairly sure he would recycle power rather than lose it. Perhaps, given enough time, they could set up a trap, but it wouldn’t work unless the entity was careless. And she knew they couldn’t count on anything of the sort.
“We need more information.” She silently promised herself that she would try to dispel Justice, the next time she faced the entity. It was worth trying. Few magicians would consider using such a simple spell against a god. “And we need to lay our plans carefully.”
“I’ll start rigging a trap here,” Markus said. “If he decides to break in, we can at least try to delay him.”
Emily nodded, although she suspected it would be pointless. Justice was simply too powerful to be stopped easily. If there was something physical to him…they could steal gunpowder from the powder mills and try to blow him up. She didn’t think that would work either – she knew it wouldn’t stop a Mimic – but it might slow him down. Besides, better to secure the gunpowder before the Fists of Justice put it to use. Sienna and the other sorcerers might not recognize it as a potential threat.
General Pollack will, she told herself. He’s seen firearms in action.
“We have to get back,” she said. “Do you have a spare chat parchment?”
“I have several pieces,” Markus said. “You know how to activate them?”
“Yes,” Emily said. She’d done it before, once. “Have you told Melissa about…about this?”
“She urged me to run.” Markus looked up at Melissa’s portrait. “But…you know…I couldn’t leave.”
Emily understood. Markus wasn’t anything special, without his family. There were plenty of other talented magicians out there. But the bank was something new, the first of its kind…something that could change the world. Markus could no more abandon the Bank of Silence than Emily could abandon Heart’s Eye and the nexus point.
“Getting out of the city might prove difficult,” Emily agreed. “Don’t try to teleport.”
“I might have to swim,” Markus said. “Or turn into a bird and fly.”