She kicked herself, mentally. She did know someone else in the city. Markus.
“We have to get to the bank,” she muttered. She drew on the last of her energy, forcing herself to stand on her own two feet. “It’s the only place we might be safe.”
Unless it’s been attacked too, she thought, as they stumbled down the street. If the Fists managed to break into Sorcerers Row, they might have managed to smash the banks too.
She gritted her teeth, forcing her body to move. She’d faced necromancers and demons and powerful sorcerers…she was damned if she was allowing a bunch of religious fanatics to get the better of her. Their power was based on a trick, although it was a terrifyingly effective trick. The magical haze they’d unleashed made it impossible for her to risk sleeping in the open, let alone teleporting out of the city. She told herself, firmly, not to give in. Despair was a worse enemy than anything.
The streets grew quieter as they made their way towards the banks. A handful of buildings were nothing more than piles of ashes, marking – she hoped – places where the resistance had struck at their enemies. There were no bodies, as far as she could see. Thankfully, there were no guards either. The Fists of Justice had too many other problems to worry about guarding the remains of their patrol bases.
They got a bloody nose, she thought, vengefully. But will it be enough to stop them?
“There’s a patrol outside the tunnel entrance,” Frieda whispered. “Stay here.”
Emily wanted to argue, but everything was catching up with her again. Her vision was starting to go hazy. She could only watch as Frieda slipped out of the alley and headed towards the guards, then slumped against the wall and prayed. It was all she could do to keep herself awake as she sensed flickers of magic, magic that had a hard and nasty edge to it. She hoped Frieda had cast it, rather than one of the guards. If the Fists of Justice had found the tunnel, they’d definitely assign a sorcerer to the guards…
Frieda reappeared, looking grim. “Got them,” she said. “Come on.”
She helped Emily to her feet, then half-carried her down towards the house. It crossed Emily’s mind that the banks might have already fallen, that they might be walking into a trap, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it. If Markus was alive and well, he’d help them; if he was dead or imprisoned, they would soon be dead too. Janus might have wanted to convince her to join him, but she suspected that ship had sailed. She’d blasphemed against his god…
“Hurry,” Frieda muttered. They reached the house and opened the door. It looked as though someone had tried to break down the wards, but lacked the skill to make it work. Emily frowned, trying to understand why something was wrong. “Emily…”
Emily’s legs collapsed under her, the moment they were inside the house. The floor suddenly felt very comfortable. She closed her eyes, just for a second…
…And opened them again, in shock.
She jerked upright, panic flashing through her mind. She lay on a bed, completely naked. A black woman – only a year or two older than herself – held a wand over Emily’s body, casting some kind of spell. Emily tried to lift a hand – she wasn’t sure if she wanted to defend herself or cast a spell – but her head swam and she fell back to the bed. She could barely move.
“Lie still,” the woman said. “You’re very badly drained.”
“I know,” Emily managed. Her throat felt dry, very dry. She could barely talk. Melissa had once cast a tongue-twisting hex on her, back before they’d come to a truce, but that hadn’t been as bad as this. “What…what happened? Who are you?”
“My name is Pandora,” the woman said. She withdrew the wand, then produced a small gourd and held it to Emily’s lips. “How much do you remember?”
Emily forced herself to concentrate as she sipped the warm liquid. It tasted of chicken, mingled with herbs and spices. She was in a bad way, then. She’d been told, time and time again, that potions were meant to taste dreadful, if only to prevent addiction. A Healer wouldn’t want her to drink something that tasted nice unless she had to drink it. She felt the liquid sliding down her throat, warming her chest…magic pulsed through her, healing the damage. It was a surprisingly comfortable sensation.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. Her memories got hazy after escaping the temple. She remembered that Sorcerers Row had been burning – she felt a stab of pain at the thought of losing Caleb – but little else. “What happened?”
“You collapsed inside the safe house,” Pandora said. “Your companion managed to get you down the tunnel and call for help. We carried you into the bank and settled you down. And then you slept.”
Emily nodded, curtly. “How bad is it?”
“Better than you had any right to expect,” Pandora told her. “You pushed your body to the breaking point, but luckily we got some potions into you before your internal organs started to collapse. I’ve fixed most of the damage, Lady Emily; the remainder will heal by the end of the day. Your magic was drained quite badly, but I think it will recover within the next day or so. I advise you to avoid using magic for the next few hours, at the very least. I’d recommend longer, but I don’t think that will be possible.”
Emily carefully tested her defenses. They were gone. The network of wards and protections she’d built up over the last few weeks were gone. She shivered, feeling vulnerable. She’d known her defenses could be broken, if someone had the power and experience to crack their way through her protections, but this was different. A prank spell designed to turn her into a frog would work, if someone cast it on her. She might as well be naked.
She scowled as she looked down. She was naked.