Thanks to our readers for their patience, and I hope this extra-long chapter makes it up to you. I'd also like to especially thank the T/B fan since the fact that you liked our story despite opposing 'ship views was a compliment of the highest caliber. -Sache
This is the second to last chapter in our story. It's taken over a year to write, but we've had a lot of fun, and hope that you readers have, too. Your reviews have really kept us motivated, and we appreciate them all. :) -Qwi
:-:-:
CHAPTER ELEVEN
by Sache8
Mage Trisana looked exactly as Pasco would have expected a weather mage to look when angry- the human personification of a thunderhead. She was marching resolutely in the front of the group, heading towards the heart of the Citadel. They couldn't be quite sure where Haman was, but there were several places more logical than others.
Captain Penmic had remained behind with the other guards, once he saw their hesitance to go against Haman's word in the Citadel. It seemed a great many of them were unsure of what to believe, even despite assurances from the Duchess herself of her innocence. The fact remained that Briar's magic and Sandry's magic had been used in very suspicious circumstances. So Penmic had remained behind to fight a war of words. Pasco certainly hoped it wouldn't come to a battle of swords.
"It's terrible, my magic."
Pasco looked over, to see Paloma frowning beside him.
"What's that?" he asked her, confused.
She looked at him, her dark eyes wide and frightened, putting him in mind of a dove or a pigeon- a quiet, harmless little bird that was somehow thrust into the middle of a situation it didn't really understand. "My magic," she repeated. "I can use other people's magic. That's a terrible thing. I hate it. It can't help anybody." She looked on the verge of crying.
Pasco risked a glance up to Sandry, hoping she might have overheard these comments and would be able to help him out, but she was deep in serious conversation with Mage Briar and Mage Trisana's student, Keth. Pasco still found it rather odd that her student was older than she was.
Pasco had never liked being put on the spot, but he nonetheless racked his brain with all his might, trying to think of a good example of how Paloma's strange magic could be put to good use. "Well," he said, "I don't think that's totally true. I mean, look, you used my magic to put everybody to sleep at the studio. Trust me, some of them could really use a nap once in a while." He did his best to sound lighthearted.
She made an effort to smile, but her eyes were still sad. With a small smile, she returned her full attention to keeping up with Mage Trisana, a task that was considerably more difficult for her than for Pasco, because her legs were much shorter.
Sandry was now pointing at random spots along the stone corridors, and conferring with Mage Briar about them as they continued walking.
"What's she pointing at?" Paloma wondered.
"They can see magic," Pasco told her. "All of them. I've seen her do it before. My guess is she's pointing out spells."
Paloma nodded. "Mas-, I mean Haman always puts up warding spells wherever he goes."
From just behind them, they heard Evvy snicker. Pasco twisted around, to see a small smirk twisting her features. "Not very good ones," she said. "I broke them apart in about three seconds."
Paloma seemed confused. "Most people seemed to have trouble with Haman's wards. I always understood them to be particularly strong."
"Not for someone who's a mage and a thief," Evvy declared, looking very pleased with herself. Her expression reminded Pasco of his mother's tabby cat when she'd trounced a moth or a mouse.
As they walked, Pasco found himself wondering why they hadn't encountered any resistance thus far. Surely there were guards or harriers or someone that were supposed to be patrolling these corridors. Then again, he reflected, the city was also in chaos. No doubt most of the guards were out trying to regain order. It was a stroke of luck, really.
Pasco knew instantly he shouldn't have entertained the thought. As if on cue, they stepped around a corner and into a long, low room which Duke Vedris had often used as a lounge in the evenings. Standing by the window nearest the far door was the cruel, beautiful woman who'd held Pasco and the two girls captive only a few hours ago. Her eyes widened in unadulterated anger. "You!" she cried, her eyes shooting daggers directly at Briar.
"Aww, scum-suckers," Briar swore under his breath. "Keep going, Tris, I'll handle this."
"I'll stay too," Sandry said, setting her small chin.
"No," Briar said. He sounded almost mild. "Trust me, I've got this covered. Keep going, you'll need all the help you can get."
Sandry looked hesitant, and Tris impatient. She was eyeing the far door almost murderously, and did not appear to be in any kind of mood to brook delay. After a moment, Sandry nodded, and everyone but Briar made move to keep going.
During this brief exchange, the cruel woman had not been idle. Rushing forward to take Briar's place next to Sandry, Pasco could feel the tingle of a spell as they moved forward.
"She's building a blocking wall," Sandry said, but didn't stop moving. She glanced sidelong at Pasco meaningfully.
Pasco just laughed a little. "No problem," he said. A simple sidestep, followed by a hop with a three-quarter twist to the right...
"It's gone," Sandry confirmed satisfactorily. Pasco just grinned at the woman's dumbfounded expression, as they rushed past her. He and Sandry had worked out how to disable a blocking wall a couple months back, which was a favorite means for kidnappers to ensnare their intended hostages.
Pasco was feeling rather good about their chances as they continued on their way. He'd disabled the blocking wall with very little effort, Briar seemed confident of dealing with the cruel woman, and Tris seemed confident of dealing with Haman.
It wasn't until he'd been feeling smug for two or three more corridors that he realized Evvy was no longer with them.
:-:-:
Briar stood, cross-armed, staring across the room at his opponent, who stared right back. While he waited, he entertained fantasies about the two of them just staring at each other until she fell over unconscious. That wouldn't likely happen, but he certainly wasn't going to make the first move. The more time he kept her here and away from Sandry and the others, the better.
"I underestimated you the last time, boy," she said at last. "Rest assured that will not happen again."
"Well, that's good to hear," he retorted. He could see the glow of her magic focusing around the middle of her body. Unfortunately, he had no idea exactly what she was planning. Something spectacular, clearly, for she just kept gathering it and gathering it. Enough to where even Briar began to get nervous.
Maybe I should initiate something. As it was in the dungeons downstairs, Briar's magic was not at it's most optimal in this setting. There were a few potted ferns and flowers scattered around, and he smiled when he took note of crawling ivy just outside the window. Well, two could play at that game. He stretched out with his magic, gratefully gathering the energy he needed from his green friends.
Finally the woman seemed to have adequately prepared herself. She gave a very pleased smile, and neat as a pin, threw her magic not at Briar, but behind him. He gave a reflexive duck, and then a surprised start when he heard a squeal of surprise coming from the area of his opponent's attack. Whirling around, he found a sight that made him nearly groan with frustration.
Evvy. He should have known she'd stay behind. He felt like kicking himself. The woman had her in the tightest spell he'd ever seen, like ropes binding her from head to toe. The glare of light coming from her was so bright in his eyes, that he could barely tell it was indeed Evvy.
"Now I have you effectively handicapped, I think," said the woman smugly. Briar turned back and noted that she still had a great reservoir of power yet left. "Now," she continued. "You're going to do exactly as I tell you, or I'll hurt the child, and don't think I'll have any qualms about doing so."
Briar didn't doubt it in the slightest.
:-:-:
It took Daja a considerably long time to reach the Citadel. Her first inclination, upon arrival, was to rush straight to the aide of her friends, but her services ended up being needed elsewhere.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Blennam? Both Mage Briar and Her Excellency were framed. You work in the justice system, you should know it happens sometimes."
Morer Penmic was standing in the middle of a practice courtyard, the early morning sunshine doing nothing to warm and soften the tension that was evident the moment Daja set foot within. Around him were two dozen or so guards, several groups of servants, and even a couple harriers, all listening attentively. Some were bristling defensively, others looked only frightened.
"He be a truthsayer, Penmic. Ye do realize that don' ye? A truthsayer. And he say the boy be guilty."
"Even a truthsayer can lie, Will. Use your common sense. How long have you known Duchess Sandrilene? Has she ever given you any reason not to trust her?"
"Maybe she be greedy for the throne, eh?" Will challenged back, but his face looked doubtful.
Penmic only sighed, and shook his head sadly. Daja could well understand his frustration. If these people were bound and determined not to believe the truth, there was very little that could possibly persuade them, no matter how much common sense was involved.
Close by Daja, she saw a middle-aged woman slowly begin to slink away from where she stood on the edges of the small crowd. The woman looked around with a guilty face and began to wipe her hands on her apron nervously. She started to head for the door, but Daja reached out one sinewy arm and stopped her.
"I wouldn't go anywhere, if I were you," she advised, not unkindly. "Haman's a little preoccupied just now, trust me. Or if he's not, he will be shortly. You'd be walking into a war zone." The woman's eyes widened in unspeakable panic. She gulped, and gave a frightened glance to Daja's arm holding her own in a gentle but unbreakable grip. "Was that where you were going?" Daja asked. "To tell Haman what was happening here?" The woman nodded mutely. "Why?" Daja prodded.
The woman's eyes flicked quickly around the corridor. "I be scared, miss. This man, he be stirring up trouble. What if truthsayer Haman find out about us listening? He could punish us awful bad for listening to treasonous words, miss. He be a justice man, begging your pardon."
Daja felt a little sick to her stomach, and she thought she began to understand why the people were so afraid to believe Penmic. If what he said was true, than Haman was no better than a liar and a deceiver. If it was true, they were in danger from his punishment or his persecution. If it wasn't true, and Haman was, as they hoped, an honest man, then they wanted to be on the good side.
Daja stepped forward, letting the woman's arm go. "Stay here, just for a few minutes," she entreated the woman, who nodded tentatively. Then Daja called, in her loudest voice, "Listen to me, everyone!" Unfortunately, only about half of the people, who were all arguing and bickering between themselves seemed to have heard her. She grunted a little in annoyance, wishing she had Sandry or Tris's knack for commanding the attention of the room.
Luckily, Penmic was one of the people who heard her. "Mage Daja!" he cried happily, and jumped down off the box where he'd been standing, rushed over to her, pulled her by the arm to the center of the courtyard and practically shoved her up above the crowd in his place. "Be quiet, everyone!" he called, and instantly a hush fell over the crowd, who all turned to stare at the pair of them in newfound curiosity.
"That's a very handy talent," Daja murmured to no one in particular.
"This is the good friend of Mage Briar and Duchess Sandrilene," Penmic explained to the now much quieter crowd. "She will have news from Winding Circle." Then he looked up and gave her an encouraging nod.
Daja swallowed. "Yes," she confirmed, "I've just arrived in harbor with the temple's fleet, who came to defend the city against the attack by the merchant guild. I have also seen proof," she added, her voice growing in strength and confidence with each word, "that is, personal correspondence from Truthsayer Haman which proves his guilt in his own hand. This letter is even now in the care of Honored Moonstream of Winding Circle.
"Master Haman has been planning a coupe of Summersea for quite some time, and he's colluded with the Merchants to make his coupe successful. We now believe that he is also directly responsible for the murder of the Duke, and had planned on murdering his niece as well." There was a gasp from the crowd at this.
"What about the plant boy's magic?" called one man, still clinging stubbornly to the story he'd been fed for almost a week now.
"Magic can be stolen, everyone knows that," Daja replied with full confidence. She felt a small thrill go through her as she saw more and more hopeful faces and nodding heads throughout the crowd.
"But he's a truthsayer, and he said the plant mage did it!" another voice called, and Daja resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Couldn't these people think outside the box for even a second?
She looked at Penmic. "Haman of Lightsbridge is a liar," she said. "He's a liar and a murderer, and we need your help to stop him and those who helped him."
"What is the meaning of this?" came a new voice, an indignant, bellowing voice. Daja whipped around to see a tall, portly man, finely dressed, entering the courtyard from the far end. He was beet red, no doubt from both his anger and the fact that he was dressed far too warmly for such a bright morning. "I don't remember it being a holiday today."
"An impromptu holiday, of sorts, your lordship," Penmic said, tugging Daja back down off the box and nudging her over to the tall man. "The city is in chaos, as you've seen, sir. Frankly, I'm surprised you made it here."
"Indeed, and who might you be?"
Penmic bowed slightly at the waist. "Forgive me, my lord. Morer Penmic, Captain of her Eminence's guard. This is Mage Daja Kisubo of Winding Circle Temple. Daja, this is Count Farinte. He was to be regent."
"I am regent," the man declared. "And this girl is entirely too young to be a mage."
Penmic started to speak up, but Daja beat him to it. "I am not too young to be a mage," she told him firmly, already digging under her tunic for her medallion of accreditation. "And you'll forgive me, my lord," she added as she showed it to him, "but you are not regent. Lady Sandrilene is innocent of the charges laid upon her."
The man sniffed carefully, looking very interested in this news. He suddenly seemed a lot less blustery than he had a moment before. "I'd like to believe you," he said at last in a lofty manner, "but I would need some proof better than your word."
Daja sighed. It was looking more and more as if she was not going to be able to help her friends after all. "Very well," she agreed. "If you'd be so kind as to accompany the Captain and I back to the harbor. Honored Moonstream will be happy to provide you with all the proof you need."
:-:-:
Sandry would never have believed in a thousand years that Haman would have kept his person so defenseless when they finally found him, but she'd learned to adapt quickly to surprises. Apparently, he really was that arrogant.
They burst into the room, to find him sitting at her desk, her desk, signing documents as if it was a Moons Day morning in winter and there was nothing more exciting to do. He was on his feet in a flash, and his eyes widened in growing shock as he took in the sight of Tris, Keth, Pasco, Paloma, and finally Sandry, storming in and descending upon him.
"You!" he shouted, enraged, his gaze settling on Sandry. "You are not supposed to be here. You're no better than a common criminal."
"Spare the facade," snapped Tris, storming right up to his desk and glaring at him. Perhaps because he was still sitting, he looked incredibly dwarfed in her presence. "We've got Paloma, and we know everything. You, I presume, are this Haman person who has utterly ruined my homecoming?" she demanded.
Haman's eyes were suddenly alight with greed. "Ah. Trisana, House Chandler, certified weather mage of Winding Circle. I might have known," he muttered and a devious smile overcame his long face. His eyes flicked briefly to Paloma.
Suddenly realizing what he was about to attempt, Sandry shouted, "Tris, watch out!"
But she was too late. Whatever it was that Haman did to steal portions of other people's magic, he'd clearly gotten it off in time. Only the process wasn't a smooth-looking as it she imagined it'd be.
Something's gone wrong, she realized. If this happened every time he tried it, he'd never have been able to keep all this a secret.
Haman and Tris were locked in a strange picture, as if the spell had been flash-frozen mid-magic. Haman's hand was outstretched toward Tris, and there was an expression of intense pain and horror on his face. Tris was floating a foot off the ground, her braids sticking out from her head in a hundred directions, and her face was also full of pain, but also of determination. A pale light seemed to radiate from nowhere and encompass the two of them.
Perhaps my warning was in time after all Sandry realized. She's trying to push the spell back at him./
The light suddenly intensified, and there was a loud gasping cry from Tris. Then Haman gave a cry of pain and the light vanished. Tris crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"Tris!" cried Keth, and rushed to her side, pulling her head and torso into his arms to examine her more closely.
"She's alive, Keth," Sandry assured him, keeping a wary eye on Haman. He seemed weakened, somehow, but he was still alert. "I'd know if she was dead. She's just knocked out."
"In that case," said Keth, "she'll be out for days. She's been using entirely too much magic in the last few days." He was doing his best to sound annoyed, but his relief was clear. "What happened?"
"My guess is that Master Haman here bit got a little too greedy for his own good," said Sandry smoothly. "There aren't many who can handle Tris's power. Even she had trouble handling it at times."
Haman made another sudden hand motion. There was a sudden, painful snapping sound, and Pasco cried out in horrified pain. Clearly Haman had attacked him with something.
"My leg is broken," he told Sandry, and she cursed herself. Haman had been watching her the whole time, she'd assumed any attack he made would be in her direction.
"Scum-suckers," she said, echoing what she'd heard Briar swear from the previous room.
She threw out several strands of magic, causing the rug under Haman's feet to come scooting out from under him with uncanny speed, but he was surprisingly spry for a man his age. He jumped away, and regained his balance, smirking a little. "You'll have to do better than that, Duchess"
"Oh, believe me," she replied calmly, "I'll do my best." As she'd done so long ago, when the royal guards had tried to keep her from her uncle after his heart attack, she seized the tapestries along the wall, and in mere seconds, they were a writhing sea of loose threads, ready to answer her call.
This time, however, she felt them resisting with confusion, and she quickly realized why. Haman had her magic, and he was using it against her. Once again she felt exposed and dirty, and she hated him more than ever.
She remembered Paloma's words, that Haman couldn't use more than one person's stolen magic at a time. If she could somehow hold him at bay this way, forced to use her magic to defend against her magic, it would give Keth time to figure out what to do about him.
One advantage Haman did not have over Sandry, however, was the rare ability to see magic. So he did not see, as she did, the very clear and very strong thread that was tied between him and Paloma. Sandry narrowed her eyes. If there was anything she understood, it was threads.
:-:-:
Through the bond, Briar felt Tris fade. For half a heartbeat he was afraid that she was dead, but knew had she been so, Sandry would surely have let him know. Besides, instinctively he knew that when one of them died, the other three would be in no doubts, no matter the distance.
He had his own problems just now. Evvy was still bound in a cocoon of magic so impenetrable that breaking through it was like trying to pierce a seashell with a needle. Clearly this was one of his opponent's strongest magical skills. His best choice, therefore, would be to somehow dismantle it by dealing with the spellmaker herself.
The ivy just outside the window began to grow. The warmth of the summer sun and the fertile soil several dozen feet below the window made the task all the easier. He did it slowly, coaxing the vines with persuasion and need, and below the casement they began to gather and coil, ready to spring.
While he worked, he talked to her. Distraction was one of his few potential aces, just now. "Since we seem to be at an impasse," he began. "Perhaps you'd consider telling me your name, kaq. You seem to have me at a disadvantage."
"I hardly think this is an impasse," she replied. "I have the advantage over you, and you are not the type to sit idly by, I think. But I might as well humor you. My name is Anise val Vaawn, and I am a proud mage of Lightsbridge Acadamy. And you and your people are a disgrace to the name of magic."
"My people?" Briar repeated. "Street people, you mean?"
"Well, there is that. A common thief like you should have been to the block long ago. Don't think I don't know what those abominable marks on your hands are hiding."
"Only a past that not everyone could forgive," he said. "I didn't like to make people uncomfortable. You, on the other hand, could do with some pointers on what is and is not worthy of shame."
Just then, the coil of vines sprung into the room, instantly shooting for Anise and binding her as tightly as she'd bound Evvy. But it was not enough. She only laughed, and from across the room, there came a muffled screech of intensive pain. Briar turned to see Evvy's face a barely-visible mask of pain which she could hardly voice.
"I wouldn't squeeze any harder if I were you, Briar Moss," Anise said. "It's partly a mirror spell. Whatever you do to me, you do to her, only to a degree far more intense."
Briar seethed. "That's forbidden magic. You think thievery is bad? At least we were given two chances of repentance. You won't even be given one, after this."
He eased up on the vines. They slid away from Anise to the floor, but they did not relax.
Sandry?
Her reply was delayed, and he winced. Clearly, she was distracted. What is it? she finally asked, sounding most distant.
If you should get a chance any time soon, I might need some help.
:-:-:
During Daja's brief time away from the harbor, Lark, Frostpine and the others had not been idle. The prison of winds and lightning that Tris and Keth had used to trap the merchants' ships seemed to not have taken long to subside- long enough for the mages to take over holding them at bay. The harbor water was full of debris and rowboats, all full of errant merchants, all looking a little worse for wear.
Daja spotted Moonstream standing on one of the few docks still standing intact after the battle, speaking with Rosethorn and a couple of very guilty-looking merchants. Daja wondered how the men were being constrained.
"Mage Daja," Moonstream greeted her with surprise, "I thought you would have been up at the Citadel by now. We were trying to get this wrapped up so we could come to your assistance."
"I did make it to the Citadel," Daja said wryly, "but I keep getting sidetracked." She jerked her head in the direction of Penmic and Count Farinte, who to their credit, both gave respectful gestures to Moonstream. "This is Sandry's Captain, Morer Penmic, and this is the would-be regent, Count Farinte. He is seeking proof of my assurances of Sandry's innocence."
"Convenient," said Moonstream. "We were just discussing that, as a matter of fact." She gestured at the two men standing nearby. "Daja, this is Master Eryil Chandler, and his skipper, Wes Mantruii."
Daja raised an eyebrow. "Chandler?" she repeated, meaningfully, sending the man an appraising glance. He looked a little sheepish.
Rosethorn laughed. "Yes, they're related," she said, answering the unspoken question. "This is Trisana's uncle, poor girl."
"Indeed," Daja commented, intrigued. "And what do the merchants have to say for themselves, Master Chandler?"
He turned cowardly eyes to Moostream. "Honestly, Your Honor, we believed the Duchess to be guilty, and her friend as well."
"That didn't stop you from making your ridiculous siege, even before Her Eminence was accused of conspiracy," Rosethorn retorted.
"It seems," interjected Moonstream smoothly, "that very few of the merchants' guild were part of the plot between Haman and their leader. They have a genuine argument for ignorance in these matters, though how the Duchess chooses to handle their fate is not my place to say."
Chandler gulped, visibly paling. Daja rubbed her hands on her arms impatiently. "Honored Moonstream, do you still have the letter Evvy found from Haman? I believe it is proof sufficient enough to satisfy the good count's doubts."
"Of course," Moonstream agreed, reaching neatly into a pocket tucked in the inside of her voluminous sleeve and pulling out the now-familiar scrap of parchment. "I hope it will be proof enough for everyone, though I daresay after today's events, we may not even need it."
"I'm sure Evvy would be annoyed about that," said Lark with a smile. "She likes to be useful."
As Farinte read over the letter, his face betrayed ever-increasing shock. "But this is a scandal," he huffed. "A disgrace of the highest levels. My lady Sandrilene must be freed at once."
Daja smiled. "Don't worry about that sir, Sandry is already free." With a concerned frown, she glanced over her shoulder toward the Citadel, where she could still feel her friends deep in battle. She was afraid for them, wishing that circumstances did not keep pushing her away. "Whether she is safe is another matter entirely."
:-:-:
Sandry felt as though invisible forces were trying to tear her into two pieces. She desperately longed to rush to Briar's aide. There was almost nothing more important to her than what Briar needed. And yet there was Haman to be dealt with. Her duty as a mage and the leader of these people demanded she be here to fight him as well. The glaring thread of magic that bound him to Paloma still pulsed and writhed before her, taunting her.
I will be there as soon as I can, she assured Briar. It was heart wrenching to say it, but she could not very well abandon these people who could use her help. I just have a little snipping work to do, that's all. At least I hope so.
She didn't like the feel of the magic in Haman's thread. It was harsh and uninviting, and made her faintly unsettled. She wondered how Paloma had survived bearing it for so long. No doubt she was unaccustomed to anything else. She wanted to destroy it, but she wasn't sure she had the power to do so alone.
"So tell me," she said, addressing Haman directly, hoping to buy herself time to think, "how long have you been stealing this poor girl's magic?"
"I am no thief, Sandrilene," he said cooly. "Paloma was an orphan. She had no one. No home, no family. I took her in, gave her shelter. It seemed a fair bargain."
"Only when you realized her potential," Sandry spat back at him. She began pacing, hoping to distract him, while she began to probe the thread with her magic, gauging the feel of it, searching for weaknesses. It was a repulsive task, only slightly less disgusting than had been working with the unmagic. "Last I checked, a bargain implies a mutual agreement between two parties. I hardly call what you've got here as a bargain."
Keth was standing a little to her left, looking uncertain, but alert. Tris had given her and Briar a summary of her history with Keth and his abilities on their way up to the Citadel. She was dying to ask him the particulars of his magic- how and when he could use it, what sort of control he had mastered. She could hardly know how they could help one another without understanding his capabilities, and it wasn't exactly an opportune moment for learning.
The thread of magic was more than just a thread. It was a strong chord, almost as complex and layered as a rope. She would not just be able to slice through it neatly with a snip of her magic- not without Haman catching on to her devices. What she needed was more of an axe, or a fire...
Daja?
I'm on my way, Sandry, I promise. I keep getting sidetracked.
No time for that, I need you now. I need you to forge me a strong sword, so sharp it would slice off your finger before you felt the pain.
I'm a long way from the forge, Sandry.
Sandry smiled, and tried pulling the rug out from under Haman's feet, which caused him to laugh as he in turn flung the rug back towards the corner where Pasco was still holding his broken leg and looking little green. She needed to deceive Haman with this false battlefront while she set her plan in motion. Not a real sword, Daja, she clarified, a sword of your magic. Like the box you made during the earthquake. I need to cut a chord. She could almost feel comprehension rippling from Daja.
One moment, Sandry.
"You are beginning to tire me with this pathetic attempts to contain me, Duchess," Haman sneered. He was still beaming a little at his apparent success in thwarting her rug attack.
At that moment, a large, gleaming something came whizzing from the direction where Keth was standing, and Sandry spared him a glance long enough to see his hand extended– clearly whatever it was had been something he'd just thrown. Her eyes darted back to Haman in time to see a thick glass ball, about the size of her two balled fists together, roll to a perfect stop under Haman's feet. For half a heartbeat, Haman stared at it in confusion, until with a blinding blaze, the ball began to zap and spark.
Sandry goggled. The ball was electrocuting him! Haman began emitting small yelps of surprised pain, and his robes caught on fire. He began dancing in spot frantically, and she was almost compelled to giggle, had she not known he wouldn't be distracted for long.
How does it go, Daja? she took the opportunity to ask.
Just a few seconds more.
Turning her attention back to the scene before her, Sandry noted something most fascinating was happening. The distasteful chord of magic seemed to be acting as a conductor for Keth's lightning, which she found both intriguing and a little scary. It didn't seem to be getting very far– she doubted anyone but she would even notice. But how, if at all, would they affect the magic she was going to try to do? Could it hurt her? Would it have any bearing on Paloma or even Daja?
On second thought, how could she be sure that this plan wouldn't hurt Paloma to begin with, elements of lightning aside altogether? Sandry bit her lip, suddenly worried. It could come as quite a shock. Who was to say how deeply ingrained the magic was to Paloma's being?
She took another look at the chord. She loathed and hated it. It was a festering thing- wrong. Surely attempting this could only be good for Paloma.
Sandry, your sword is ready.
Sandry sighed, making up her mind. She was going to risk it. It was just a question of when. She could still feel a slight pull of Briar's worry in the back of her mind, and she was starting to feel desperate. On my signal, Daja, Sandry called, whipping a thread of magic in the direction of her friend just as if Daja were standing beside her and they were joining hands. Strike where I guide you.
I am ready.
Sandry took in the scene before her. Pasco, hurt but brave, Keth, another lightning ball ready in his hand, on the balls of his feet, preparing to fire again. Paloma was standing very still, watching Haman with wide, frightened eyes, and Haman had just succeeded in getting his robes free of flame. He looked up–
"Now!" Sandry shouted, both in her mind and aloud. Perhaps she shouldn't have shouted aloud, for Keth took this as a signal to throw his lightning ball. It reached Haman just at the instant when Daja's sword struck the chord, and several things happened at once.
The chord of magic was shorn clean, and with a brilliance that nearly forced Sandry to shield her eyes, the stream of magic swooped back into Paloma with a dizzying speed. Paloma cried aloud, jumped back, breathing very hard, almost frantically. Sandry noted that her hair was standing slightly on end.
The lightning had seemed stronger this time. If magic acted as a conductor for Keth's lightning, than no doubt the very powerful surge of magic coming from both Daja and Sandry in that instant has made it go berserk. Haman didn't burst into flame this time, but he did give a very painful cry. Then, without warning he slumped to the floor, unconscious. For half a heartbeat, it was eerily quiet.
"Is he dead?" Pasco asked at last.
Sandry rushed over to Haman's prone form and peered down at it. "Would the lightning kill him?" she asked Keth, who also made his way over.
"Not the way I designed it the spell," he replied, with utter confidence. "But something happened to the lightning this time. Something pushed it away. I don't think the lightning has anything to do with this." He waved a hand at Haman.
"What are you saying?" Sandry asked.
"I'm saying, I don't think it touched him, my lady."
"He must be unconscious because I broke the magical bond," Sandry murmured, almost to herself. "But where did the lightning go?"
As if in answer, there was a loud zap from somewhere behind them, and they turned to see a very pale, trembling Paloma, dark hair now standing completely on end around her face, holding her hand up in wonder.
Sandry ran to her, afraid to touch her. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Paloma blinked. "It's gone," she said, still staring at her hand. "The lightning is gone from me." She glanced at Keth. "I don't know how I know that, though." She looked at Sandry. "I feel strange, Duchess. Like I'm stuffed to bursting after a big meal. Everything seems... more intense, somehow. Sharper."
"You've got your magic back, I think," Sandry said, still not entirely sure how this was going to affect Paloma. "I found a link, tying you to Haman. Daja helped me destroy it."
Daja! She'd almost totally forgotten. Daja, are you all right?
I'm fine; what did you do? came her amazed voice, full of trepidation.
I think I helped, Sandry offered timidly, not entirely convinced of herself. I'll have to explain later. Master Haman seems to be contained, for the moment.
"I think you're right, Duchess Sandrilene," Paloma whispered. "It hurts a little bit, but I think you're right about my magic. I feel sort of... right, almost."
Sandry nodded, feeling a little better. She turned to Keth. "Go find a healer mage, if you can. Pasco will need help, and probably Tris as well. Go back to the harbor– there are a great many mages assembled there."
With a brisk nod, Keth turned heel and sprinted out of the room. Sandry turned back to Paloma. "I need to go help Briar," she said, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Stay here with Pasco. Meditate. It will help you get a better grip on your power. Someone should be along to help you shortly."
Paloma nodded. "Yes, Duchess Sandrilene," she said obediently.
After that, Sandry wasted no time in scurrying off. I'm on my way, Briar.
:-:-:
Briar would not have been able to express with words his relief when Sandry assured him she was coming. He'd never been in such a pickle in his life. Any magic he threw at Anise seemed to effect her, true, but it also seemed to effect Evvy, only worse. He was now reduced to using his magic only to counter any spells she threw at him, and he was ready to scream with frustration and worry.
There was the possibility of going after her with his street skills, of course, a possibility he hadn't yet tried. He had no idea if a non-magical attack would affect Evvy the same way the magical attacks did.
Anise sent another spout of fire at him from her hands, which Briar ducked to miss, turning his ducking into a quick somersault to avoid yet another fireball. The fireballs spelled more trouble here in the upper levels of the Citadel than they had in the stone dungeons. Briar winced as one of the wall tapestries burst into flame, quickly followed by a part of the nearby rug.
He hoped Sandry would hurry. He could do nothing about the fires, but she would be able to. Another fireball. Briar leapt aside as the patch of rug below him began blazing.
This will never do, he thought worriedly, watching as smoke began to fill the room. Probably shouldn't wait for Sandry after all.
He'd felt the connection when Sandry had used Daja's magic just a few minutes ago. It seemed that now would be a good time to follow suit.
Daj, I need to douse a couple blazes. Could you lend a hand?
You know, came her wry reply, I don't know why I'm bothering to try and reach you guys. It seems if I just sit down and work from where I am, I might be more effective.
Briar grinned. Works for me, he replied, just as he felt the uncomfortably warm glow he associated with Daja's power tingle through his senses. Without hesitation, he held out his hand to each growing fire in turn, absorbing it's energy and channeling it into his magical bond with Daja. He gritted his teeth, focusing on keeping the energy flowing, afraid that if it stopped for even an instant, it would consume him from the inside out.
When at last the fires had subsided, Briar broke the link, taking a relieved breath when the heat left his body.
"Impressive," Anise noted.
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," he sneered. He didn't give her time to reply, but lunged for her with a speed that prevented any defense on her part. Before she even had time to cry out, he had her arm pinned painfully behind her back, twisting it for all it was worth. She emitted a strangled sound of pain, and Briar looked up at Evvy, just in time to see her small face screwed up in a excruciated expression. Growling, he released Anise and darted away from her.
Anise only laughed and cradled her sore arm. "I'm afraid there's no way around it, street brat," she said. "You can't hurt me." A twisted look of delight came over her face. "And now I'm done playing. I'm going to rid the world of your scum."
She seized a talisman on a cord around her neck, muttered a couple of words that Briar didn't like the sound of, and instantly his whole body was a writhing mass of tortured tissue. Pain such as he'd never before experience, coursed through him as his body hit the charred rug beneath his feet. He couldn't even put it into words.
He was vaguely aware of the sound of running footsteps, a loud, frantic cry of surprise, and suddenly the pain ceased. His breath was loud in his ears. Then he felt a gentle sensation on his face– small hands, accompanied by the sound of a sweet voice.
"Briar! Are you all right? Can you hear me?"
He opened his eyes. "Sandry," he murmured, in spite of himself, fumbling for her hand. "You're here."
:-:-:
Paloma hadn't been around hurt people very much in her lifetime, so she had no idea what to do for Pasco while they waited for a healer. He assured her that it was best he just stayed still, and she was only too happy to comply.
"Sandry said you should meditate," he said, wincing a little. "We could do it together. It will help me relax a little."
"Okay," Paloma said, grateful they had such a commission with which to occupy themselves. She sat down cross-legged beside Pasco, trying not to look too closely at his leg, which was set at an angle that made her stomach rather woozy.
It was not difficult to fall into the meditative breathing pattern, and she was amazed how quickly she felt better. The duchess had been right. She instantly felt her power begin to become more manageable. Before she'd thought she was going to explode with the strange feeling of it.
True to his prediction, Pasco too seemed to benefit from the meditation, and as they breathed together, Paloma began to notice something odd. She could feel Pasco's magic, like a tangible thing. She realized she instinctively knew how to just reach out and pluck some of it away from him, as if she were picking up a thimble or an apple from a tabletop.
Meditating with someone seems to be one of the ways to absorb their magic, she realized, thinking of the first dancing fiasco in which she'd put everybody to sleep after meditating with Pasco, or the quilt incident after meditating with Duchess Sandrilene. The realization was impassive. She still was not very happy with the nature of her magic. She was sure no other mage would ever trust her, when they learned what she was.
They had been meditating for perhaps ten minutes or so, when they were interrupted by the sound of feeble coughing from across the room. Paloma opened her eyes and turned around curiously, wondering if perhaps Mage Trisana had recovered and was waking up. What she saw sent panicked chills down her spine.
It was not Mage Trisana that was waking up. It was Haman.
:-:-:
With Sandry's help, Briar pulled up into a sitting position. He watched as her pretty blue eyes narrowed in anger upon Anise. He could feel her power building in side her...
"No!" he cried, seizing her arm to stop her. "You can't hurt her directly, you'll hurt Evvy as well." At his words, Anise smiled smugly.
Sandry peered closely at the flow of magic between Anise and Evvy, and her eyes narrowed even more. She sprang to her feet. "You wretched woman," she spat. "The likes of you and Haman say that our kind should not exist, yet you dabble in the darkest of magical arts. I saw the spell you were using on Briar when I came in."
"Truthfully, my dear Duchess, I do not give a rat's tail if any of you have ambient magic or not, save that your power is a threat to my own ambitions, and must therefore be eradicated. It is Haman and others who are such zealous believers in their own purity."
"Haman is vanquished," Sandry said, raising her chin as she was wont to do when displaying her authority. "As soon shall you be."
"Is that so? It matters little. That's one less obstacle in my path, then. I want the city for my own, and with your help, I shall have it."
Sandry gave a snort that was decidedly unladylike. "Highly unlikely. Even if you succeed in destroying the three of us, the entire city is now swarming with Winding Circle mages. By this time the truth of Haman's plotting will be making its way through the streets, and the whole city will know you helped him. You've already lost, madam, so I suggest you yield."
Anise gave a furious snarl, twisted her hand, and suddenly Sandry arched back with a gasp of pain, falling to her knees, clearly suffering from whatever Anise had just done to Briar. Hardly thinking, Briar opened his link to Sandry, pulling the spell into himself through their bond. He remembered a fascinating weed he and Rosethorn had seen on the way to Chumar, which was actually carnivorous, and fed off insects by luring them near and trapping them with spines. He imagined himself to be the fly trap, closing himself around the evil spell and dissipating its effects, absorbing its energy into himself as the fly trap used the insect for nutrition.
Sandry lay gasping on the floor. Thank you, she told him. Briar, I'm going to try something.
What?
The mirror spell. I can't break it, but–
Yes?
I can reverse it, Briar. Quite easily. Reversal is inherent in the nature of the spell. I can reverse it and strengthen it. But then I must ask something unpleasant of you.
What is it? he asked, warily, though he feared he could anticipate the answer.
I have to maintain the reversal. While I hold it, you'll have to hurt Evvy, somehow. Not much, I don't think, but something strong enough to make–
Anise.
– Anise break the spell.
Briar gulped and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and glanced at Evvy. The worst part was that they couldn't warn her. He shared no mind-to-mind bond with her. Very well. He could see it was a sound plan.
I'm sorry, I can't think of anything else that might work. The spell is very strong.
Trust me, I know, he said bitterly.
Sandry struggled to a sitting position and fixed a furious glare on Anise. Then she smiled at the other woman in a very smug, very condescending, very royal way, and Briar couldn't help but feel smug himself. Anise had no idea who she was messing with.
Ready, Briar? she asked.
Ready.
Okay, NOW!.
Briar sprang to his feet over to Evvy. When he reached her, he took a look at the magic binding Anise to Evvy, and was pleased to see that, like a writhing stormcloud in a strong gale, it was churning steadily around backwards. As for Sandry, she was a bright beacon of concentrated effort, eyes closed tightly, hands held out before her. As soon as he could sense that the spell had completely reversed he dared to reach out for Evvy.
He had decided to try and do his part by physical means instead of magical. Years of street-fighting had left him with a solid knowledge of just how much harm the human body could withstand. He could only hope he could adjust that knowledge properly to Evvy's limits. It seemed a far safer course of action than any magical means.
He took her arm and twisted it behind her back, locking it in place as he would if trying to restrain a wrestling opponent. It felt wrong and strange, though, to be doing this to her, not only because he loved her so much, but because she had no way to defend herself. "I'm sorry, Evvy," he whispered. Then he twisted hard.
He was almost shocked at how swift and loud was the resounding snap from across the room. Anise screamed, and Evvy gave a muffled squeal. Briar blinked. Just how powerfully had Sandry amplified the spell's effects? He frowned, and twisted Evvy's other arm, less intensely than he had before. Another snap. Clearly it wasn't going to take much. He gave a grim smile.
He wrapped his arms around Evvy's body completely and slowly began arching them both backwards, straining her spine and back muscles in a way that must have been excessively uncomfortable. Anise's screams became unbearable, sending chills through him, but he did not yield.
At last, there was a final, sickening snap, and Briar immediately released Evvy, watching in satisfaction as all signs of Anise's power suddenly evaporated, and her body fell with a slump to the ground. She was quite clearly dead, her spine snapped backwards like a bean husk.
Briar let out a relieved sigh, then crushed Evvy in a deep hug. She gave a sob and clung to him tightly in return. He held on only for a moment, before releasing her and giving her a sound cuff on the head.
"Why can't you ever just do as you're told?" he roared, his relief and joy suddenly changing to a mentor's frustrated anger.
Evvy looked properly shamed. She hung her head, staring at her bare, scuffed feet as if hoping the floor beneath them would swallow her up. "I'm sorry, Pahan Briar," she said in a very small voice.
"Go find Pasco and Paloma. They're– " he looked at Sandry for help.
"They're in the north study, meditating," she said, pointing in the appropriate direction.
"I'll deal with you later," Briar said. "You could do with a bit of meditating yourself. Now get. Sandry and I have more to do."
Evvy nodded, and scampered off as quickly as possible, no doubt to prove to Briar a newfound sense of quick obedience.
He let out a long, wavering sigh as he watched her leave, shaking his head. Then he looked over at Sandry. "Thank you," he whispered.
She ran to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, taking profound delight in the smell of her hair, as she laid her head on his shoulder. How nicely she fit here.
"I'm so glad this is finally over," she said at last.
"So am I," he whispered. "So am I."
:-:-:
Paloma could not have put into words the panic and fear shunting through her. "Master Haman," she whispered. The fact was that it was only she and Pasco here, all alone, with one of the most powerful mages in the land. Her first inclination was just to run away, but if Haman intended ill against her, running wouldn't get her very far.
Besides, Pasco couldn't run, and she most certainly wasn't about to leave him alone.
"Where are your great defenders now, you traitorous, ungrateful brat?" he snarled, straightening to his full height.
She quailed, and scooted back further towards Pasco. "They're off fighting," she offered timidly.
"Leaving you alone with me?" he laughed. "I told you they were not to be trusted, didn't I?"
Paloma got to her feet, wondering if perhaps she stood up, she might be able to protect Pasco better. "I still trust them," she offered, voice quavering. She couldn't remember ever having been so afraid.
"I wonder," said Haman, fingering the glass medallion she knew he used to house his ready-spells. "I wonder what Duchess Sandrilene fa Toren would offer as ransom for her prized student."
"No!" Paloma shouted.
At that moment, she was also surprised to hear Pasco shout. "Arabesque, Paloma. An arabesque!"
The strange command seemed to shake her. Her head did not understand the order, but her feet nonetheless complied. He had an uncanny knack for making his dance commands sound exactly like Mistress Linden's, from the dance academy.
When she'd turned out of the arabesque she goggled at the sight that met her eyes. There, hovering five feet above the ground and thrashing wildly in midair was Haman. She looked amazedly at Pasco. He grinned. "I can't dance, but you can," he said. "And you said your magic wasn't good for anything."
She marveled, and slowly a pleased smile began creeping onto her face. "What next?" she asked, eagerly.
"Namorn step dance," he said, but she did not have time to execute the suggestion, for Haman had given up on trying to get down and was instead muttering a spell with his medallion. He aimed it at Paloma, but she was quicker than he, and dodged out of the way, so he turned it on Pasco instead.
"Pasco!" she shouted, as her friend's eyes suddenly rolled up into his head and his body visibly relaxed.
"Oh, don't worry, my dear," he told her. "I won't waste him yet. I may need him since dancing is the only talent you've perfected on your own."
"Why did you steal my magic?" she shouted at him. His behavior towards Pasco had given her a newfound, angry sort of courage.
"As I explained to that upstart little Duchess," said Haman, "it was only fair. You were nothing, you came from nothing. I gave you a respectable home and a decent life. It was only fair I used your power in exchange."
"Sandry was right, it wasn't fair! You lied to me. How can you dare speak to me about trust and honor? You told me all my life I was no mage, and all the while it was because I was a mage that you ever cared about me at all!"
"Ah, Paloma, you were such a good girl. Why did you turn on me so quickly?"
"Because I am a good girl and I know good when I see it. I don't ever want to see you or have anything to do with you ever again, Haman. And I hope you're locked away for a good long while."
"Well, good or no, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to let me down, now."
Paloma cocked her head. "Why should I?" she asked.
"Because, dear girl, I will make your existence decidedly unpleasant if you do not."
She considered. "You can't do anything to me," she finally said. "I'm the only one who can get you down. If you knock me senseless you'll be stuck here until one of the others arrive."
"I can hurt your friend," he said with a cold smile. He reached for the medallion, but they were both suddenly distracted by the sound of rushing feet. Paloma turned her head to see the plant mage's little scruffy student run panting into the room. She took in the scene before her in one glance, noted Pasco's prone form, and scowled.
"Oh, great," she said. "now what happened?"
"Pasco helped me dance him up there," Paloma explained, "then Pasco got knocked out, and now– "
"Look out!" Evvy shouted, and lunged at Paloma, knocking her out of the way in time to block another spell. Then they tumbled together sideways to block another. As they scrambled to dodge a series of what Paloma somehow recognized as stunning spells, obviously meant for Evvy, she felt a strange, new rush of power inside her. It felt cool, and steady, and she suddenly felt as if she could hear the stone floor beneath them humming with a kind of strange, deep resonance.
The stone mage's magic, she realized with awe.
"Well," commented Evvy aloud, "at least he's in one place." They'd sheltered themselves in the doorway of the room, in the lee of Haman's line of sight, where he would not be able to see them.
"We've got to do something, or he'll hurt Pasco," Paloma urged her frantically.
"All right, all right, keep your shirt on," Evvy said. Paloma puzzled at this strange phrase, but did not inquire about it as she watched Evvy fumble for the mage's kit at her belt. "I've got something that might knock him out."
"A tiger eye again?" Paloma asked helpfully, remembering the incident with the cold lady and Mage Briar in the dungeons.
"Amethyst," came the reply. "Far more powerful."
"Then why didn't you use it before?"
"We didn't need it as badly before," said Evvy grimly. "So it's a good thing I saved it."
She pulled out a long, polished, purple stone and held it up, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again. "Blast," she muttered.
"What?"
"It's not working."
Haman had now clearly turned his attention on Pasco. Desperately, Paloma tried another arabesque, wondering what would happen. All it did was lift him higher in the air. This was, fortunately, enough to disrupt whatever harm he'd been planning towards Pasco, but she couldn't keep pushing him up forever. His head was only inches from the ceiling now as it was.
"Why isn't it working?" she hissed at Evvy.
"He must have some way to block it," was the girl's frowning reply. "What I need is a good jolt to surprise him."
"A jolt?" said a voice behind them. Both girls jumped and whirled around. "I might be able to help with that."
"Master Keth," said Paloma, in relief. "Did you not find a healer?"
"He's on his way, but I'm glad I got back when I did."
Paloma was considering his previous words. "I have an idea!" she cried. She held out her hand. "May I have the amethyst, Evvy?"
The smaller girl handed it over, uncertainly. Paloma took it, feeling the smooth, polished contours, and smiled appreciatively. It was clear why this was such a favorite of Evvy's. It had a soothing influence. "I can absorb other people's power, right?" she said excitedly. "I can feel your power, Evvy, and I've already felt Master Keth's." She reached out and grasped the taller man by the shoulder. "Yes, yes," she said excitedly. "I can only use one magic at a time, so I need your help, Master Keth. If I absorb Evvy's magic...and you channel your lightning magic through that... That should be jolt enough, don't you think?"
"I do think so," Evvy agreed. She eyed Haman uncertainly "Better make it quick, though."
Keth seemed to understand what she was asking of him, and nodded. Paloma turned in time to see Haman lifting Pasco slowly into the air opposite him, apparently using the same binding spell he'd used to trap Paloma and the others when he'd discovered them here at the Citadel.
Without hesitation, she utilized Evvy's power, holding the amethyst up high. "Now, Master Keth!" She could feel Evvy's power, deep and soothing, as she had previously noted. Keth's seemed to be crackling and swift, and as she held the amethyst up, he channeled his magic through it towards Haman.
The effect wasn't quite what she'd expected. Haman clearly had been shielding himself, just as Evvy had suggested, and at first the lighting coursed around him, not penetrating whatever shields were in place. When it couldn't register with its intended target, the lightning seemed to take on an almost rabid frenzy, and, to Paloma's horror, it began sucking all the magic it could find to give itself strength.
"Shoot," she muttered. She could feel it gaining strength, combining not only Evyy's, Keth's and her own power, but Pasco's as well, who was still bound to Haman by a spell. She also felt a strange magic in the mix, and realized that the Healer mage must have just arrived, and Healing magic was being sucked into this as well.
Finally, the lightning seemed to have achieved what it needed. With a brilliant flash, it pierced Haman's shell and broke the dance spell, dropping him with a loud crash to the floor. Then it sizzled and zapped outwards in all directions, before fizzling out into nothing.
"Ow!" shouted Evvy, and held her head. "What was that?"
I know how that feels, came a sympathetic voice.
Paloma blinked. Nobody had said that out loud.
She turned to Keth. "Did you say something?"
He frowned. "No."
"Yes, you did," Evvy grumbled, still rubbing her head. She looked up and glared at him. "You said you know how that feels. I heard you too."
"But I didn't," he said, confused.
Paloma was puzzled, but she had more immediate concerns. She stepped carefully into the room and peered down at Haman's prostrate form. "Is he dead?" she asked, wondering if she wished it to be so.
Keth knelt down and made a quick examination. "He'll live," he assured her.
Though I rather wish he hadn't.
Paloma and Evvy both gasped. "You did it again!" Evvy cried. "How'd you do that?"
Whatever had happened, Paloma decided not to worry about it for the moment. She was just relieved that Haman was once again subdued. It was really over this time.