Brenna, stumbling through the snow in stocking feet, her boots having come off in the mud on the lakeshore, could barely grasp what was happening. Less than an hour had passed since the magecarriage had pulled up to the front of the Palace and Falk had jumped down and stalked inside. The appearance of the Prince, boarding the boat, his revelation that he, too, knew Mother Northwind’s plan-then the explosion in the Palace, the frantic rowing across the lake, the mud, the loss of her boots, the Prince’s embrace, the sudden shock of the wintry air, and now the cold tearing at her feet and face and hands. .. it had all happened with blinding speed.
She ran, despite the pain in her freezing feet, because she couldn’t not run, not with the Prince pulling her along and the cold more of a threat than even Falk, left on the other side of the Barrier. He really is the Magebane, she thought. Mother Northwind spoke the truth. He really can negate magic.
But Mother Northwind might very well be dead in the rubble of her rooms back in the Palace, and her plan to bring down the MageLords with her. Which left only Falk, who would surely kill Prince Karl if he knew he was the Magebane, and would just as surely kill her when he had reconstituted his own Plan and could once more get her to the Cauldron.
Running seemed an eminently sensible thing to do, except where could they run that Falk couldn’t find them? He had already found the Prince once, and that was when he had been tucked away in the Common Cause’s most secret safe house. Who would shelter them now?
In a dark alley on the other side of the park, Karl looked back at the way they had just come, and swore. Their footsteps were clear in the snow. “Stay to the cobblestones,” he said. “Or Falk will track us with ease.”
Brenna shivered. “I ca… can’t. I l… lost my b… boots in the mud.”
Karl glanced at her feet. “I know what that’s like,” he said. He straightened. “Then I’ll carry you.”
“What? No! You can’t-”
“Piggy-back,” he said. “I’m strong, Brenna. I can do it. It will save your feet… and save, us, too. If you cut your feet on the cobblestones and leave a trail of blood…”
Feeling self-conscious, Brenna climbed onto his back as he bent before her. He staggered a little as he straightened, but she could feel hard muscle in the shoulders she clung to and the hips she straddled, and though he moved slowly off into the darkness, he didn’t falter.
Karl carried her through the streets, staying in the shadows, pulling her aside once into a doorway when someone passed the mouth of the alley they were in, silhouetted against the ghastly yellow illumination of one of New Cabora’s gaslights. But few people were abroad, kept inside both by the cold and, she suspected, the recent crackdown in the city by Falk’s forces.
Despite her being carried, her stockinged feet were almost numb by the time they reached their destination, an ordinary doorway in an ordinary alley like a dozen others they had traversed. Karl let her slide to the ground, and she winced as her feet landed in snow. Not completely numb yet, then, she thought.
Karl knocked, a complicated pattern. Nothing happened. He knocked again, varying the pattern. Still no response. Finally he put his mouth close to a closed eye-slot and said, so loudly her heart leaped in terror for fear someone would overhear, “Open, whoever is in there,” he said. “It’s Prince Karl. I seek the protection of the Common Cause.”
The door opened so abruptly Karl almost stumbled through it-and almost onto the sword point that, catching the light from outside, seemed to hover in the darkness. “Get in,” snarled a voice from the darkness.
Karl grabbed Brenna’s hand and pulled her through the door. It slammed shut behind them and she heard the bolt shoot into place. In absolute-though blessedly warm-darkness, they crept forward. A second door suddenly opened, revealing a firelit room with a table and chairs. Beyond it Brenna glimpsed another room with beds and blankets, and beyond that, a kitchen.
The man who had admitted them waited until they were both inside, then came in behind them. The door clicked shut, and Brenna turned to see a man about Karl’s height, bright blue eyes blazing above a barely-healed wound that had laid his cheekbone open, bared blade glinting red in the firelight. “Tell me why I shouldn’t run you through here and now and save myself a hell of a lot of trouble,” he growled.
“Vinthor?” Karl said. “I thought you were dead!”
“More than one secret way out of that farmhouse. I killed two guards in the kitchen, then got out while the getting was good. But I was the only one. Denson, Goodwife Beth-”
“Beth survived,” Karl said. “She’s in the Palace.”
Vinthor’s face paled, putting the cheek wound into stark relief. “Beth’s alive? I thought…” He stiffened, face flushing again. “If that’s a lie-”
“No lie,” Karl said. “Vinthor, Brenna needs to sit down and warm herself. It’s not as cold as the night you brought me here barefoot, but it’s cold enough. Her feet…”
Vinthor hesitated, then sheathed his sword. “All right,” he said gruffly. “I’ll hear you out. Brenna, is it? Sit down and let me take a look.”
Brenna sat gratefully by the fire. Her feet were beginning to burn and itch with returning circulation. She felt embarrassed and self-conscious, having this strange man pull off her stockings and hold her naked feet in his callused hands, but his touch was gentle, and when he straightened, he said, “No frostbite. Not like yours.”
“For which you called a Healer, who saved them,” Karl said. “You didn’t have to take that risk. I thank you for it.”
“The Patron would not have thanked me if I hadn’t.” Vinthor gestured to the other chair at the table, and Karl took it. Vinthor remained standing.
“It is because of the Patron that I am here,” Karl said. “And the Patron’s grand plan.”
Vinthor’s eyes narrowed. “And what plan would that be? The Common Cause wants to shake off the yolk of the MageLords and let Commoners govern themselves. You are both Mageborn. Hell, you’re the Heir, and will someday be the King. We tried to kill you.”
“And, when I found my own way out through the Barrier… as I have again tonight… you were told to keep me alive,” Karl said. “I didn’t know why then. But I know now.” He paused. “You call me Mageborn. I am not. I am a Commoner.”
Vinthor snorted. “The Heir is a Commoner? Not bloody likely.”
Karl nodded at Brenna. Guess I’ve already decided to trust him, she thought. She took a deep breath, then met Vinthor’s gaze. “He’s not the Heir,” she said. “I am.”
Vinthor’s eyebrows shot up. He gave her a long, hard look, then said slowly, “And supposing I believe that, what does that make him?” He jerked a thumb at Karl.
“I’m the Magebane,” Karl said.
Vinthor blinked, then barked a laugh. “The Magebane is a myth.”
“Is it?” Karl said. “The Kingdom is real enough. The Great Barrier is there for a reason, too. Legend tells us the Commoners rose up against the MageLords in the Old Kingdom and drove them here. And legend also claims they only succeeded because of the Magebane.” Karl spread his hands. “You’ve seen how unsuccessful your own attempts to fight the MageLords have been. Perhaps you need a Magebane, too.”
“You?” Vinthor said.
“I walked through the Lesser Barrier,” Karl said quietly. “Twice. And this time I brought Brenna with me.”
Vinthor shot a look at Brenna. “Is that true?”
“It is,” she said.
Vinthor studied her. “You say you’re the Heir. But that must be something you’ve just learned. What were you before?”
“Lord Falk’s ward,” she said bitterly.
Vinthor’s eyes widened. He glanced from her to Karl and back again. And then he sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down with them at the table. “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”
When Falk jumped down from the magecarriage, stamped up the stairs of the Palace’ and strode through the corridors toward Mother Northwind’s quarters, he did not have immediate murder on his mind.. . but you would have been hard put to prove it from the reaction of the servants and Mageborn he passed, who took one look at him as he stalked through the hallways, pulling off his heavy outdoor coat, hat, and gloves as he walked, and scurried away like mice faced with an oncoming cat.
Falk was not yet fully prepared to accept Brenna’s claim that Mother Northwind was working against him. The Healer had brought Brenna to him, installed Karl as the Prince, interrogated and influenced others for him for years. It seemed inconceivable that she had done so much to help him and then, at the very end of their long game, chose to sabotage his Plan instead.
And yet…
The boy in the King’s bed had been on the verge of slaying the King, on the verge of at last releasing the Keys to Falk, when he had suddenly killed himself. No sane person, in full control of his own faculties, would have done such a thing…
… unless his mind had been twisted.
And Mother Northwind, though she might not have been the only soft mage in the Kingdom capable of such an act, was certainly the one who was most capable of it.
Mother Northwind had “examined” the assassin ahead of the act, giving her the opportunity to alter his mind as she saw fit. Throw in Brenna’s claim that the dogsledders had been taking her and Anton to Mother Northwind, and he certainly had grounds for suspicion.
He wasn’t convinced. Not yet.
But he was suspicious enough, and angry enough, after the failure of his Plan at the very moment of success, that he could be convinced
… very easily.
He reached Mother Northwind’s quarters, paused just long enough to toss his winter clothes on a chair outside, then pounded on the door twice with his gloved fist before seizing the doorknob and swinging the door inward.
Mother Northwind sat by the fire, knitting, for all the world as if she had never left her cottage. “Lord Falk,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?” Falk growled. He closed the door behind him, and took a look around. A maid, sweeping in the corner, froze like a startled rabbit as his gaze swung over to her. “Out,” he said.
The girl looked at Mother Northwind. “Put your broom by the fire, Pilea,” she said, and as the girl came over, Mother Northwind took her hand and gave it a pat. “It’s all right,” she said. “Go and fix some tea for us, and I’ll ring when we want it.”
Pilea glanced from her to Falk, gave a quick curtsy, then fled.
Falk glared at Mother Northwind. “The Plan failed,” he said. “The boy killed himself, not the King.”
Mother Northwind kept knitting. “I know,” she said. “A terrible shame. Still, you have the Heir. You’ll try again, I expect?”
“I expect I will,” Falk said in a low, dangerous voice. “The question is, will someone sabotage my next attempt as well? I doubt I will get a third.”
“Sabotage?” Mother Northwind raised her head and one eyebrow. “You suspect someone of sabotage?”
“Indeed I do,” Falk spat. “You!”
“Me?” Mother Northwind’s wizened face was the picture of innocence. “I have done everything in my power to help you achieve your goal for twenty years, Lord Falk. I’m hurt you would accuse me of doing otherwise now.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why on Earth would you suspect me?
“You examined the boy to ensure he would go through with it. You said he would.”
“I said he was committed to doing so,” Mother Northwind said. “But I could not foresee that at the last moment he would change his mind. I know soft mages have a reputation for being fortune-tellers, but you know as well as I that the future is a book we can only read one page at a time.”
Falk grunted. It was true; not even the most powerful mage could foretell the future. But he wasn’t satisfied yet. “And then there is the matter of the dogsleds.”
“The dogsleds?” Mother Northwind paused in her knitting and gave him a look obviously intended to make him feel slightly ridiculous; much to his annoyance, it did. “Do tell.”
“The dogsleds,” Falk grated, “that brought Brenna and Anton south after the airship came down on the shores of the Great Lake.”
“Oh,” Mother Northwind said. “What about them?” She began tucking her knitting away in the small wicker basket overflowing with multicolored yarn at her feet.
“Brenna says they belonged to you,” Falk said softly. “She says you want her for your own purposes, not mine.”
If Mother Northwind were surprised, she gave no sign of it, tucking her knitting needles into the basket and then closing its lid. “And what purpose could I possibly have that is not yours?” she said as she straightened. “Have I not helped you every step of the way? Brenna is frightened and lashing out in any way she can. She hopes to divide us.” She spread her hands. “What possible use could I have for Brenna beyond the one we have both agreed to: to capture the Keys and with their help bring down the Barrier?”
“ Do you wish to bring down the Barrier?” Falk said. “Or have you had some other purpose in mind all along?”
“What other purpose could that be?” Mother Northwind said. “Power? I’m too old to be interested in power, Lord Falk. I wouldn’t live long enough to do anything with it.” She went over the fireplace and pulled a tasseled rope hanging beside it. “If we are going to have a long chat, Lord Falk, I simply must have my tea.”
Falk grimaced, but said nothing.
“I want the Barriers down, Lord Falk. I wouldn’t have worked twenty years to achieve just that if I did not. And when the Barrier comes down, the MageLords will emerge,” Mother Northwind continued. “How can it be otherwise? I do not care if you rule the whole world, Lord Falk… as long as the Barrier falls. And you alone know the way to make that happen. If I turn against you, the Barrier will not fall, and what would I then have been wasting my fading energies on for so long?”
“Tagaza worked at my side even longer,” Falk growled. “He turned against me at the end. And he paid the price.”
Mother Northwind’s face took on an expression of false horror. “Is that a threat, Lord Falk?”
“Your powers are great, Mother Northwind,” Falk said. “But they are soft. You must touch me to use them against me. Whereas I can summon power in an instant that will flay you to your bones. It is more than a threat, it is a promise. If I become convinced you have acted against me, you will die.”
A servant entered, the same girl who had been sweeping in the corner when Falk first came in. She brought with her, on a polished wooden tray, a silver pot from which wafted the pungent scent of herbal tea. “Thank you, Pilea,” Mother Northwind said. She patted the girl on her hand. “You’re a good girl.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The girl curtsied, turned, and walked past Falk on her way to the door.
Only luck saved him. On the corner of the mantelpiece stood a glass vase, surface shiny and bright as a mirror. In that surface, Falk caught, out of the corner of his eye, a hint of movement, enough to make him turn his head-which was just enough to bring into his peripheral vision the sight of the girl lunging at him with a dagger.
The dagger should have gone into his back. Instead, as he lurched to the side, it sliced along his right flank, laying a strip of fiery pain against his skin. As his doublet turned red, he roared and lashed out with his fist, but the girl moved faster than he would have thought possible and came back at him with the knife, though she was just enough off-balance that he managed to jerk his head out of the way as the blade lashed the air beneath his chin. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hard across his body with all his strength, flinging her away from him. She almost flew across the room, her head made a horrible crunching noise against the edge of a marble-topped table, and she fell to the carpeted floor, twitched, and lay still, blood pooling beneath her shattered skull.
Falk spun back toward Mother Northwind, seizing power from the MageFurnace as he turned, forming a spell in his mind. He released the spell. A wall of sun-bright blue flame slammed furniture to kindling against the far wall, crushed the plaster into dust, and blew out the far windows in glittering blizzards of glass. But of Mother Northwind there was no sign.
Falk strode to the gaping window openings and peered out, but no mangled body lay on the gravel path beneath or on the bushes below, and dust obscured his view a moment later as the facade collapsed, roaring, from the eastern wall.
Falk turned away. Perhaps the blast had reduced the old woman to nothing more than red mist, scattering now on the winds… But he wouldn’t have wanted to lay money on it.
Hand to his bleeding side, Falk went to the door and flung it open. Servants were running away from Mother Northwind’s quarters and guards were running toward it, but Mother Northwind had vanished without a trace.
Bellowing orders at the approaching guards, Falk stalked away from the shattered room. If she lived, Mother Northwind could not leave the Palace grounds. He would find her. And then he would take great pleasure in personally crushing the life from her wizened old frame.
Mother Northwind had known from the moment Lord Falk entered the room that their alliance was at an end. Somehow, he had had a hint of the truth about who had sabotaged his attempt to seize the Keys. She could think of only one way that would have happened, and as they talked, he confirmed it. Brenna, the little fool. Youth, she thought bitterly. You can’t trust them to act wisely. An older Heir would have kept her counsel once she realized Falk intended to kill her, would have realized that Mother Northwind had told her the truth and her own survival depended on doing what Mother Northwind told her.
But Brenna, little more than a child, had let her anger get the best of her and risked her own life-and now Mother Northwind’s, too.
Well. Perhaps it was for the best. Mother Northwind had known that sooner or later this moment would come. She sparred with Falk, buying time, then reached up and pulled the rope to summon Pilea. She had long since primed all of the Commoners who served her here. Much like Falk could direct the mageservants in his manor, she could direct her human servants. All it took was a touch. She had issued her initial instructions as Pilea had left the room. When she returned, she would be bringing more than tea.
Pilea arrived, and set down the tea. Mother Northwind patted the maid’s hand and twisted, just a little. It took very little energy.
It would take a great deal more for her to do what she needed to do next, and so she sat absolutely still, summoning her inner resources-and waited.
Pilea walked past Falk, then with sudden, lightning speed, spun, drew the dagger she had procured after Mother Northwind had sent her out of the room the first time, and thrust it at Falk, her aim as expert as a trained assassin.
Somehow, Falk dodged the fatal blow, but he also took his eyes off Mother Northwind, and in that instant, she released the energy she had summoned… and vanished.
Even a soft mage had some hard magic to call on, and Mother Northwind had more than most, though unlike mages of Falk’s caliber she could only apply it, as with her soft magic, by touch. But that was all right, because this magic was being applied to herself.
She wasn’t truly invisible. Rather, she had changed the air close to her body so that the light from objects behind her flowed through it like water. If Falk had been looking closely, he would have seen a
… distortion, a ripple in the air, moving from the chair where Mother Northwind had been toward the door.
But Lord Falk was too busy not getting killed. By the time he flung poor Pilea across the room, Mother Northwind was past him. She was at the door when he released that killing blast. And she was in the hallway before he realized she had vanished.
By the time he came to the doorway himself and strode away, bellowing, she was across the hall, and going down the servants’ stairs. She could feel herself weakening. She had barely enough strength to hold the illusion until she had reached the hallway at the bottom of the stairs that ran the length of the Palace, the kitchens to her left and doors leading to other servants’ stairs up to other parts of the Palace on her right. Then she had to let the magic go, staggering as she did so, collapsing onto a hard wooden bench.
For the first time, she felt afraid. Falk should have died in her room. But with him still alive, every square inch inside the Lesser Barrier would be turned upside down until she was found.
She had one trump card, though, literally up her sleeve, in a pocket where she carried another of the enchanted devices Verdsmitt had created to cut a hole through the Lesser Barrier. She had never expected to use it for herself, keeping it on her person only in case she needed to bring someone into the Palace grounds surreptitiously, but now it offered her only chance of escape.
She needed to get to the Lesser Barrier without being seen. How that would be accomplished needed some thought. She heaved herself up. She couldn’t stay there, outside the kitchens. Sooner or later a servant would come by-probably sooner; and she could not count all of them as allies.
But some she could.
She had taken note long before of the location of the living quarters of those who personally served her. She got to her feet and, weary beyond belief and sorely missing her cane, made her slow way along the corridor that led to the room belonging to a maid named Malia, who would help her escape the Palace grounds… and, just maybe, help her salvage her Plan.
Besides, Mother Northwind thought, Malia deserves to hear the truth of what happened to her sister Pilea…
… well, as much of the truth as will serve.
The news that Lord Falk had apparently killed Mother Northwind raced through the Palace hard on the heels of the wall-shaking blast itself. Verdsmitt overheard it from servants talking in the hall outside his rooms, and felt a deep sense of shock, as though the blast that had taken Mother Northwind’s life had ripped his own from its foundation.
But an instant later came a feeling of complete freedom. Mother Northwind was dead. Her Plan had died with her. He no longer needed to kill the King on cue. He could kill the King whenever he felt like it …
… and he felt like it now.
Verdsmitt went to his battered old valise, kindly delivered to his room at Falk’s orders after his “conversion” to Falk’s cause, and tore open the lining. There, sewn in place, was a small leather pouch with something heavy in it. He ripped the pouch free, then opened its mouth and upended the contents into his palm. A ring glittered in the blue magelight, snakes of yellow-and-white gold twining round each other, each with the other’s tail in its mouth. Ruby eyes glittered in the head of the yellow snake, emeralds in the head of the white.
Kravon had given Verdsmitt the ring as a token of undying affection, just two weeks before the Keys had come to Kravon and everything had changed. Six months later Verdsmitt had been denounced, “committed suicide,” and vanished into his new life. But he had never thrown away the ring. And now… now it was his passport to the King’s presence.
For the first time since he had come to the Palace, Verdsmitt stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the block of rooms at the Palace’s rear: the quarters of the King.
Falk found Brich before he found Captain Fedric, and found out why when Brich, who had been searching for Falk even before the blast, said, before Falk could say anything, “Lord Falk, Prince Karl is gone again. And he’s taken Brenna with him.”
Falk, who had been on the verge of ordering a search for Mother Northwind, momentarily forgot all about her. “Gone? How?”
Brich swallowed, and glanced around. They were just inside the main entrance of the Palace, where more stairs swept up to the central rotunda whose domed roof suggested the shape of the dome that capped the Palace’s center, though in fact there were several more floors above it-including the Spellchamber where Tagaza had been struck down.
It was a highly public space, and there were people even now rushing through it in both directions, the blast in the east wing having had much the same effect on the Palace as a boot kicking over an anthill. “Perhaps we should-”
“Perhaps you should answer my question,” Falk snarled. He was far beyond caring what anyone else in the Palace heard or thought. “Were they both kidnapped? Did they ride across the bridge to the gate and some soon-to-beheadless idiot let them out? Tell me!”
Brich kept his own voice low, but complied. “They took a boat to the marshy place on the far side of the lake where we found the boats after Karl’s first disappearance,” he said. “They were seen, and guards went to investigate, but the light was failing. When they finally caught up with the boat… Karl and Brenna were gone.”
“Then who was in the boat?” Falk said, but he already knew.
“Teran,” Brich confirmed. “Karl’s bodyguard.”
“And Karl and Brenna?”
“Teran claimed they were hiding elsewhere on the grounds. But a search found their footprints… outside the Barrier.”
“ What? ”
“They were very clear,” Brich said. “Karl and Brenna went through the Barrier as though it weren’t there, then ran into New Cabora.”
Falk took a deep breath, pushing his fury and frustration and disbelief down, down, deep inside, until it was like fire hidden beneath a layer of ice. Now he could think. “Very well,” he said. “There are two things we must do, Brich, and both are vital. One: I want the Palace and the Grounds searched for any sign of Mother Northwind.”
Brich blinked. “My lord?”
“The blast you heard was my attempt to kill her,” Falk said harshly. “Seconds after one of her ensorcelled servants attempted to kill me. I was near the door and did not see her leave, but nevertheless, I saw no sign that I succeeded in killing her. Search the rubble first for her body. If it is not found, then search every room of the Palace, every bush on the grounds. I do not believe she can pass through the Lesser Barrier-although from what you’ve just told me I can’t be certain even of that.
“Second. We must find Karl and Brenna. They would not have been wearing winter clothing-”
“No, they were not,” Brich confirmed. “Brenna’s coat was in the boat, and she lost her boots in the mud. Wherever she is, she has no shoes.”
“Then they cannot remain in the streets. They must find shelter. Begin a house-by-house search of New Cabora, starting with the streets closest to where they escaped. Use every available man. No doors are to be left unopened, no attics unsearched, no basements unplumbed. Any resistance is to be eliminated with overwhelming force. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, Lord Falk.”
“When Karl and Brenna are found, they are not to be harmed. Bring them to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Next.” This time Falk did take a moment to look around him, but no one had been foolish enough to stay anywhere close enough that they might be accused of overhearing. “The tragedy in the King’s bedchamber
… we have someone investigating?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Sathana?”
“Our best man,” Brich said.
Falk nodded. “Tell him he is to personally guard the King, every night. Tell him that very shortly I will return north to complete my interrupted survey of the Cauldron. Tell him that I will check in with him every night by magelink… and that he is to be ready to carry out my orders.”
“It will be done, my lord.”
“Good.” Falk’s jaw clenched. “And as for Teran…”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I assume he is in a cell.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then leave him there. I’ll deal with him later.”
Brich started to turn away, then hesitated. “My lord?”
“What?” Falk snapped.
“Your side, my lord. You’re bleeding…”
“You think I don’t know it? It’s just a scratch. I’ll have a Healer attend to it when I have time. Now carry out my orders!”
Brich nodded and hurried away.
Falk itched to “deal with” Teran immediately, itched to make someone pay for all that had happened that day, but now that he had spoken to Brich, he instead returned to the hallway outside Mother Northwind’s quarters. His winter clothing remained on the chair where he had dropped it. He looked inside. Servants were collecting debris and sweeping up dust. The girl who had tried to kill him had been covered by a sheet. But hers was still the only corpse in the room.
Well. Mother Northwind, alive or dead, would be found soon enough. Brenna concerned him far more. He would supervise that search himself. And when that was done, and she was once more in hand, then he would deal with Teran, and his bitch-mother and sister.
His side burned. A Healer first, he thought. And then…
He had been lenient with the Commoners last time Karl had vanished among them, confining his destruction to buildings.
He would not be so lenient again.