“How do I get down there?”
“You don’t, Highness. I’ve tried myself, but Rhazat obscures the stairway somehow. I don’t even know where it is.”
“Why hasn’t she killed you?”
“I almost wish she had, Highness. She said the night she took me that she needed a good servant, and that it amused her to let me linger on.”
“Courage, Lieutenant. We’ll get out,” Klia told her.
With Phania in the lead, they headed for the main gate. The grey, oppressive sky was brightening, but there were no other people on the street. It was eerie, being alone in this dreary town, and she was anxious to be out of it.
“Where is everyone?”
“Sometimes they’re here, sometimes not.”
The gate was unguarded, but the bar was too heavy to lift.
“This way, Highness.” Phania went to a postern door and opened it. There were no guards outside, either.
Rather than relief, this only made Klia more uneasy. This all felt like another trap or a strange dream, although she was reasonably sure she was awake. She bit her tongue just to be sure.
Once outside, there was the matter of where to go.
“Rivers always lead somewhere, and you said you tried upstream. So we go downstream,” Klia said, setting off in that direction. “Hopefully we’ll find a town less strange than Zikara.”
Phania fell in beside her on the river road but said nothing.
They walked all morning, stopping only to rest and eat. Water was a problem, however. She hadn’t found a waterskin at Rhazat’s tower, and when she tried to drink from the river she discovered that it was some sort of illusion. It looked and sounded like rushing water, but her hands came out of the water dry and drinking it was like trying to chew air.
“How much worse can this place get?” she wondered grimly.
“How much worse could anything be than this?” Phania sighed.
“Don’t give out on me now,” Klia ordered. “Eat something and then we’ll go on. What was it like, when you were captured?”
The lieutenant shrugged as they sat on the riverbank eating. “One minute I was talking to Captain Sedge. The next something grabbed me and I was here, or in the tower, rather. My weapons were gone, and the queen gave me this dress to wear and made me a servant.”
“You do the cooking?”
“No.” The woman shivered. “I don’t know where the food comes from. It just appears.”
“Does she withhold food from you to make you obey her?”
“No, I can eat as much as I like. But no matter how much I do, I’m always hungry. You’ll see, Highness. I think maybe if you stay here too long, you starve anyway.”
“We’re going to get out.”
They moved on, and Klia began to understand Phania’s fatalistic attitude. The air was dead, the countryside dreary, and somehow it was sucking the very life out of her. At least the road was smooth down the middle, between the ruts. As long as the food lasted, she felt fine, but despite the fact that she tried to ration it to make it last, by midafternoon everything was gone. Thirst was the first to strike, a terrible dryness in her mouth and throat. Then her belly rumbled, and it felt as empty as if she’d had nothing to eat since yesterday.
“You see?” said Phania. “It’ll only get worse now. Begging your pardon, Highness, but if I die out here, I won’t be sad.”
“Keep moving, Lieutenant.”
They pressed doggedly on, since there was nothing else to do. If they didn’t find food quickly, then they really were done for.
The light was beginning to fade above the ever-present clouds when Klia finally spotted a town in the distance.
“Come on!” She took Phania’s hand and urged the woman into a stumbling run. But as they got close enough for a good look, Klia slowed to a halt and stood there with her heart in her boots.
It was either Zikara, or its exact twin. The palisade, the roof of the tower beyond, the gate and side door—it was all the same, apart from the guards visible at the gate and on the palisade above. People on foot and in carts pulled by dispirited nags were on the road.
“By the Flame, what’s going on?” she whispered in disbelief.
Phania let out a choking laugh. “This is the farthest I’ve ever made it here in this Bilairy-forsaken place, and we’ve ended up just where we started!”
Whatever doubts Klia clung to of this not being the same town were dashed when the gates opened and Rhazat rode out mounted on Moonshine. She galloped up to them and reined the stallion in sharply. Phania fell to her knees, face in her hands.
“How—?” Klia began, hope flaring in her heart at the sight of her beloved horse, but it was even more swiftly dashed as she looked into his eyes, eyes that had once been so warm and brown and wise. Now they were cloudy and white.
Rhazat stroked the horse’s neck. “Lovely, isn’t he? You’re welcome to take him out whenever you like, though I fear you’ll find him a bit harder to manage than he was.”
“Do you corrupt everything you touch?”
Rhazat laughed and offered Klia a hand up, kicking her foot out of the stirrup so Klia could mount behind her. “What a thing to say! Come, you must be starving. And perhaps a clean set of clothes. You smell like smoked eel, my dear.”
“Go to the crows,” Klia growled.
“Well, you may not be hungry, but I am.” Smiling, Rhazat crooked a finger and Phania rose in the air with a despairing cry that choked off as the necromancer’s hand closed around the back of her neck. Hanging there in that impossible grip, she closed her eyes and set her jaw, a soldier to the end.
“Let her go!” Klia shouted.
Rhazat arched a brow at Klia. “Yes, I am famished!” With that, she pressed her lips to Phania’s brow in an almost motherly kiss. Phania shuddered in her grip, then went limp. It was over in an instant and Rhazat draped the dead woman over her saddlebow like a deer. “Shall we go? Please, there’s still room for you up here.”
Klia glared up at her, silently refusing.
Rhazat nudged Moonshine into a walk. “Very well, you can walk. It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, and I believe you’re out of food. Come along, my dear princess, you must eat, if not for your own sake—”
“I know!” Klia snapped, following her toward the gate. No wonder Rhazat didn’t bother with locks. She didn’t need them; this whole horrible place—whatever it was—was a prison.
Perhaps I’m already dead and beyond Bilairy’s gate.
Klia pushed the thought away, reasoning that if she was dead, this necromancer wouldn’t be working so hard to keep her alive.
Doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, Alec followed the river up into the grassy hills. There were no birds singing, no trees, not even a breeze to stir the dead air. It was neither hot nor cold, but vaguely muggy. It was still early morning, if you could trust the light in this place, but he felt like he’d been walking for days without food or water.
“Please, Illior, don’t let me die in this awful place,” he whispered hoarsely, nearing the end of his strength. Perhaps the Lightbearer had heard him, for a few moments later he noticed something very strange ahead of him—a patch of blackness hovering in the air just off the road, rippling like a silk scarf in a breeze.
He approached it cautiously, suspicious but desperate. Could this be how he’d gotten here, through some sort of rent in the air? Stopping within arm’s reach, he stared into the center of it, but it showed only blackness. As he stood there, baffled, it rippled again, brushing his face and chest—
—no dawn sky, no rushing river. All was silent and pitch-black. Reaching out, Alec felt smooth wall under his hand. The ground was level and hard under his feet, and the air smelled of dust and fresh plaster. Completely disoriented, he reached down and felt the floor: dressed stone, no carpet. That, and the smell of plaster, gave him hope that he was back in the Hierophant’s palace. He chose a direction and felt his way along the wall until he saw li
ght ahead, streaming in through a glazed window. Reaching it, he could make out a few newly built villas outside that looked familiar. Deciding it was safer outside than here in the dark, he opened the window and climbed painfully out onto a dewy verge next to a paved street. He was somehow back in Menosi.
Weak and in considerable pain, he still relished the chill breeze and smell of new growth as he staggered around to the front entrance where uniformed guards were standing around a brazier in front of the stairs leading up to the huge carved doors. They saw him and came running to his aid. Supporting him with their arms around his waist, two of them helped him to the brazier.
“It’s Baron Alec!” the sergeant in charge exclaimed. “Where have you been, my lord? Your companions are frantic.”
“I don’t know,” Alec gasped, shaking with hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. “Where’s Seregil?”
“Tonil, Sera, fetch Baron Seregil and the others,” the sergeant ordered. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around Alec and helped him sit down on the steps. Someone offered him a waterskin and he drank deeply. It was cool, sweet, and real. A few moments later the great doors swung open again and Seregil dashed down the steps to where Alec sat shivering in the borrowed cloak.
“By the Light, Alec, where have you been?” he asked breathlessly, sitting beside him and brushing loose strands of hair back from Alec’s face to look him over.
“I don’t know,” Alec told him. “I need food, and a drysian. There were dogs—”
Seregil pulled the cloak and coat away and swore as he saw the blood-soaked bandages around Alec’s arms and hand. Then he was shouting orders and Micum was there, too, bundling another cloak around him.
“Can you ride?” Seregil asked, coming back into focus.
“I think so—Yes.”
Seregil and Micum helped him up onto Windrunner’s back. Alec slumped there like a sack of grain, clinging to the saddlebow as best he could, arms and hand throbbing with pain. Mounted on Cynril, Seregil took Windrunner’s reins in hand and led the way back to the encampment.
It was a bit of a blur after that until Seregil and Micum helped him off his horse and into a tent where a warm fire was burning in a brazier. They laid him on a bed, and sometime later a drysian was bending over him, murmuring apologies as she cut away the makeshift bandages.
“How bad?” Seregil asked, leaning anxiously over her shoulder.
“Some nasty punctures, but not much tearing,” she replied. “The muscles appear to be not too badly damaged.” She held a cup to Alec’s lips and he drank, recognizing the taste of willow bark and poppy juice. Blessed numbness flowed through him as she set about washing and dressing the wounds.
“He disappeared in a dead-end corridor and showed up hours later outside the palace,” Seregil explained as Thero joined them by Alec’s cot. The drysian’s potion had done its work. Alec was deeply asleep.
Thero passed a hand over Alec’s brow, then shrugged. “I sense no sign of magic on him.”
“How is that possible?” asked Micum.
“I’m telling you, he was there, and then he just—wasn’t!” said Seregil.
Thero ran a hand over his short beard and sighed. “I have no idea how it could have happened. I suppose he can tell us when he wakes up.”
“First Mika is attacked; now this. Not a very auspicious start,” said Micum.
“No. Did you see or hear anything else of interest last night, Seregil?”
“Aside from Alec vanishing? No, but plenty of ghost stories from the guards who’ve been stationed there for weeks. There’s definitely something strange going on up here.”
Thero shook his head. “I don’t understand why I don’t feel any magic on him. It does appear that someone translocated him, but there’s no residual imprint of the one who cast the spell.”
“That’s not a common spell. I didn’t think anyone outside Nysander’s lineage could do it, especially necromancers.”
“I’ve never found any evidence that says they can in any of my research. It seems more likely a necromancer would have used a dra’gorgos to capture him, yet I feel nothing of that, either, and my charm should have protected him. I fear this is something else entirely. I need to meditate on this for a while.”
Seregil rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Mystery upon mystery. We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.”
Alec woke in pain but thankfully in a warm bed. He could feel warm stones tucked in around him, under a pile of blankets. Looking up, he realized he was in a tent. Daylight showed through a gap in the tent flap. Hadn’t it been dark just a moment ago? Memories flooded back as he pushed back the blankets and found both arms and his hand expertly bandaged in blood-spotted linen that smelled of honey salve.
“There you are,” said Seregil with a yawn, getting up from a cot across the tent. Apparently he’d been sleeping, too.
“What’s the time?”
“Nearly dinnertime. You’ve been asleep since we got you here this morning. How are you feeling?”
Alec winced with pain as he pulled the blankets up again. “I’ve been better. I’m really hungry. And thirsty.”
Seregil stuck his head out of the tent flap, ordered someone to bring food, then returned to the bed with a waterskin and a cup.
Alec drank three cupfuls before his thirst was slaked, but that only left him hungrier.
“Are you up to telling me what happened?”
Alec frowned. “I was running down the corridor with you. I saw a light and thought it was someone with a lantern. The next thing I knew I was out in the country somewhere.”
“Ah, I thought I heard voices,” said Thero, stepping inside to join them, followed by a very worried-looking Micum and a servant with a breakfast tray. She set it on the bed by Alec and he grabbed a hunk of bread and devoured it, then started in on the sausage and cheese.
“What in Bilairy’s name happened to you, Alec?” Micum exclaimed, pulling up a stool next to the bed.
Alec swallowed and started again. “One minute I was in the corridor with Seregil. I saw a light and followed it, thinking he was right behind me. The next thing I knew I was facedown in sheep shit somewhere out in the countryside. There were young shepherds there, but not the ones we met, Thero. They ran away as soon as they saw me, in the direction of some cottages. Someone there set the dogs on me and I had to fight them off.”
“Why didn’t you use the dog charm?” asked Seregil.
“I did, but obviously it didn’t work. Still—” He held up his arms. “If it wasn’t for this, I’d think I’d dreamed it all.”
“So would I,” said Seregil, looking thoughtful.
“I thought I killed the dogs. They had wounds and they looked dead, but they didn’t bleed, though I certainly did.”
“Indeed?” murmured the wizard. “But you didn’t feel any moment of disorientation as you passed from one place to another?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“Go on.”
“After that I saw a town in the distance and made my way there, along a river. I tried to wash my hands and drink, but the water wasn’t wet.”
“How do you mean?” asked Thero.
“It looked like water and sounded like water, but when I tried to drink it wasn’t really there. I couldn’t wash my hands, either.” He shrugged. “That’s the only way to explain it.”
“Dogs that don’t bleed. Water that isn’t wet,” mused Seregil.
“And fire that didn’t give off heat, but burned,” Alec told them, and saw Seregil and Thero exchange a glance. “What?” he asked.
Thero shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. What happened next?”
“I made it to the town, which was walled. There were watchmen outside, but once again, as soon as they saw me they couldn’t get away fast enough, shouting something I didn’t understand. It could have been that island language. Once they were gone, someone on the wall threw rocks at me. I ran and then I was back in here in the palace, as suddenly as I ha
d gone.”
Just then Mika peeked around the tent flap. “May I come see Alec?”
“Of course you can,” said Alec, motioning him in.
The boy’s head was freshly bandaged, his left arm splinted in a colorful silk sling. The swelling around his eye had gone down a bit, but the bruises were a nasty purple and green. “Did the man with the cudgel hurt you too, Alec?”
“No, I ran into some unfriendly dogs.”
“I thought you could charm dogs.”
Alec gave him a rueful look. “So did I—Wait! Seregil, look for my lightstone in my coat pocket.”
Seregil rifled through the ruined garment and pulled out the lightstone. It glowed as it always had.
Thero took it and examined it closely. “What?”
“It didn’t work there,” Alec told him.
“And the dog charm didn’t work, either?” Thero rested a forefinger against his lips for a moment, thinking.
“So wherever I was, something affected the magic of the stone and the charm?” asked Alec.
“So it would appear.” Thero handed the stone back to him. “Or someone.”
Alec looked up at the wizard. “I can’t help thinking of what Sedge told us about the night Phania disappeared. He said it looked like she was pulled. I didn’t feel that; I just was one place one moment and somewhere else the next. And I got back through this wavery black place in the air.”
“A what?”
Alec searched for words. “It was like looking at dark water rippling, only it was hanging in the air. It touched me while I was trying to figure out what it was and I ended up back here.”
“So you got back on your own,” mused Thero, looking Alec over thoughtfully, as if he had some markings to tell the story. “Give me your hand.”
Alec held it out and Thero clasped it, then shook his head. “I don’t understand. How can there be no trace of magic on you after all that? If you’ll excuse me, I must meditate on this. Will you keep an eye on Mika for me?”
“I could use some company,” Alec said, giving the boy a wink. “I think we left the cards in your tent.”