Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (56 page)

Alyssa flicked a glance at Satravim, about to command him to move in, when Ramita suddenly stepped to one side and raised a hand towards the young assassin. ‘You! Don’t come any closer!’ she ordered.

Everyone went still, then Alyssa kindled blue fire in her right hand. ‘Satravim, go to the nursery and bring back Ramita’s baby – I heard a child as we came in.’

Ramita flinched. ‘No—!’

‘It doesn’t work that way, dearie,’ Alyssa told her. ‘Attachments are weaknesses; surely you have learned that by now?’ She waited until Satravim had slipped out the door, then focused anew on the girl. ‘I take it you bore twins, as you expected?’

The Lakh girl’s face became stony and realcitrant.

‘Don’t try and lie to me, girl! Alyssa warned, not liking this flash of stubborness. ‘I’ll ask you once more, did you bear twins, as you believed you would?’

Ramita’s face closed up, completely unreadable. ‘There’s only one,’ she said. ‘I warn you, don’t you touch him.’

As the two Hadishah came up on either side of Alyssa, she pondered her strategy:
If we attack her now, she might just manage to raise the alarm before Megradh is ready . . . We just need to keep her silent a few more moments
. So she continued speaking. ‘I have thirty Hadishah here, Ramita, and though I’m prepared to do this without blood, violence is very much an option. So answer truthfully: where’s the Scytale?’

Before the girl could reply, the door opened and Satravim poked his head through. ‘I can’t open the nursery door,’ he whispered.

‘Why not? Are the wards unusual in some way?’
Can’t these low-blood cretins do
anything
right?

‘No, Lady. It’s just too strong for me.’

Too strong?
Alyssa looked at Ramita. ‘Who set those wards?’

Ramita lifted her chin, but she said nothing. Alyssa scowled: she knew the inside of Ramita’s mind well, having taught the girl Rondian mind-to-mind when she first came to Hebusalim. The market-girl had a certain street cunning. ‘Come Ramita, you can unlock it. Then we’ll see how brave you are with your son’s life at stake.’

She signalled to Satravim to fall in behind the girl again, but was shocked when the young man had the temerity to question her. ‘Lady Alyssa . . . a child?’

Good grief! Scruples from a Hadishah?
‘Satravim, the thing we seek could save the entire East from conquest,’ she said patiently, ‘and this little bint – this traitor to her own kind – is concealing it. Do you understand?’

His burn-marred face twisted uncomfortably, but she sensed the scales falling from his eyes. She smiled reassuringly. ‘She’s no innocent, Satravim.’ She gestured to the bed. ‘She sleeps with the enemy.’

Satravim stiffened, then nodded obediently and she gave him an approving look which appeared to settle him.
He’s still mine . . .

Ramita’s defiance must have been ebbing already, because she allowed herself to be ushered out into the corridor, where two more Hadishah were waiting, one stationed beside each unopened door.

she sent silently to the assassin at the far end.

the Hadishah replied, an older man with a calm demeanour.

Another mage?
Alyssa looked at Ramita.

The Lakh girl smiled as if she wasn’t surrounded by blades. ‘Knock and find out.’

I’ve just about had enough of your cheek, mudskin
. She looked at Satravim, about to order him to batter the girl into unconsciousness, but she stopped. For some reason she felt exposed here. Megradh’s men were probably only seconds away from attacking and that would likely alert whoever was within that chamber to the danger. And she still didn’t know where Alaron Mercer was.

She stepped to the nursery door, set her hand to the lock and scanned it for a locking ward, then flinched.
Holy Kore on High! That’s damnably strong – simple, but the raw power . . .

She turned back to Ramita. ‘Did you set this?’ The touch of the spell wasn’t familiar, but when she’d plundered Ramita’s mind two years ago, she hadn’t developed the gnosis.

Ramita just smiled again.

Alyssa stared indignantly.
Was it possible? Did Meiros do something to make his Lakh human wife as powerful as a pure-blood? If that’s the case, she’ll be
priceless
to Rashid’s breeding programme.

‘If it’s yours, unlock it, or Satravim will carve out your eyeballs. You won’t need them in the breeding-house.’

A mental call forced her to pause.

Megradh whispered into her skull,

She glared at Ramita, considering her options. After a moment, she sent, <
We don’t need Mercer. The girl will suffice. Kill them all.>

*

Megradh grunted agreement and broke the connection. He altered his aim to the Rondian youth’s chest, while sending a silent order around his men. There were twenty-one bolts aimed and ready. Below them, the monks, totally oblivious to the danger, were still arguing about their game. Those seated at the sides had staves at their feet, their own, and those belonging to the participants in the game. Otherwise, they were defenceless.

<
Two volleys and they’ll be a pile of meat,
> he sent to his men.
.>

He engaged gnostic sight to ensure that Mercer wasn’t shielding, but that gave him sudden pause: there were clear signs of gnosis-use below – and not just from Mercer. Several of the monks had vestigial shields in place, and as he widened his gnostic field of vision, he saw one of the players on the fringe of the argument was juggling a ball using kinesis. And there was a faint buzz, as if a current of mental communication was running beneath the audible words.

These are magi . . . some of them anyway . . . maybe all of them.
He felt a flicker of misgiving. The Zains in Teshwallabad had barely resisted, apart from the younger ones with their fancy staff-tricks, but this place felt different. He almost contacted Alyssa, then decided that would be perceived as a show of weakness. A captain had to be decisive at all times.

he warned his crossbowmen. <
Be aware.>

His jackals responded with little surprise; no doubt some had also begun to notice the shielding. But a crossbow bolt could penetrate steel plates. At this range, even a fully aware mage would struggle to repel a volley, and these targets were unaware. But a second volley might not be possible, not when crossbows took the best part of half a minute to reload – that would be too long if any of these Zains did turn out to be halfway competent magi.

he sent.

His finger tightened and he took a deep breath, beginning his inner mantra for an accurate shot:
Exhale, await that perfect moment of stillness . . . then
—

Suddenly a woman’s voice rang out: ‘
ALARON! BEWARE! WATCH OUT
—
!
’

Megradh cursed, his aim wavering as a newcomer burst into the courtyard. As heads turned towards her he recognised her instantly:
the gypsy kutti!

Someone shouted ‘
SHIELDS!
’ and gnosis light flared below.

Megradh’s aim settled on the gypsy as she ran towards Mercer and he bellowed, <
SHOOT!>
both out loud and through the gnosis, even as he loosed his own bolt. It slammed straight into the gypsy’s chest and pinned her to a pillar.

A second later the air was filled with bolts and the gnosis.

*

CYM!
Alaron recognised Cym’s voice the instant it rang out and her warning crystallised his anxiety about the ice breaking above. He shielded himself as he shouted a warning. Part of his training had included throwing in surprise commands, to test the novices’ reflexes and get them used to reacting instantly, so most of them did just that – but it was mostly luck who survived the next two seconds.

As blue light flared and clashed across the courtyard, the shutters on the walkway above crashed open and a hail of crossbow bolts lanced into the crowd of novices. Those at the sides took the brunt of the attack; one young man was struck in the back by two bolts and driven to his knees; beside him another was pierced through his neck, breaking it and killing him at once; he was dead before he fell. More bolts tipped in gnosis-light burst through the shields; though some were deflected, too many were deadly, and all around him Alaron saw limbs and torsos being impaled, while the young men howled in pain and shock.

He whirled back to where Cym’s voice had come from, his heart in his mouth as the scattering monks revealed her impaled on a pillar by a crossbow bolt. She was white as a sheet, but she was alive, just; he could see her trying desperately to breathe. He screamed her name and ran to her, calling his staff to his hands.

‘
STAVES!
’ he shouted, and the Zains went for their weapons as the shutters above crashed open and twenty or more black-clad shapes dropped from the gangways above, blades in hand.

‘Hadishah!’ someone shouted, sounding panic-stricken, and the air filled with cries of fear and fury.

‘Master!’ Sindar shouted, and Alaron turned to see the young man, staff in hand, looking bewildered, his training failing in the face of genuine combat. A black-clad figure landed behind him, his sword raised.

‘Watch out!’ Alaron cried, but it was already too late; even as Sindar turned the Hadishah drove his scimitar down, straight through Sindar’s weak shield and into his back. The young man fell forward, his face still uncomprehending.

Aprek shrieked and launched himself at the Hadishah. His normally placid face had gone white and he was frothing with rage. He began to rain blows down on the startled assassin, but even as he gave ground, another was darting in on his flank. Then Yash flew in, making a gesture that flung the Hadishah away and into the walls with backbreaking force.

Alaron darted through a gap, still making for Cym, when a black-clad attacker came at him. For a second he confronted a pair of dark eyes that flashed with mesmeric-gnosis, trying for a spell to fog his parry, but it was weak.
Mesmerist, huh?
Try this!
Alaron spun his staff and lunged, blasting Ascendant-strength kinesis into the Hadishah’s shield, fusing and shattering it. The follow-up blow, a continuation of his original movement, saw him slamming the iron heel of his staff into the assassin’s temple, so hard his skull cracked. He went down, as Alaron flowed onwards.

All round him, the fight was taking shape. Many – too many – of the Zains were already down, and those still standing were trying to encircle the wounded and protect them, all the while fighting desperately to survive themselves. Master Puravai, the only non-mage, was in the middle of the press, protected by his novices while he bent over one of the wounded. But the Hadishah, trained to kill and with the advantage of surprise, were carving into them.

Even as he tried to reach Cym, Alaron could see the invaders were beginning to meet stronger resistance. At first most of the Zains had thought only of defence, with only a few, like Yash and Kedak, fighting aggressively. But that was changing: as the young men shielded themselves and the wounded from a storm of blades, mage-bolts and fire-bursts, Alaron sensed the realisation growing among them that they were holding their own; that their gnostic training really worked – and that their kon-staffs could be as damaging as a blade.

He reached Cym, to find Gateem – apparently oblivious to the mêlée around them – already had his hand on her chest, white healing-gnosis blooming in his hands.

Alaron begged her, but she didn’t respond.

Just in time, he sensed a blow coming and set his shields blazing as a mage-bolt struck. He darted into a gap between two of his trainees and blazed gnosis-fire at his attacker, which overwhelmed the Hadishah; as the assassin’s shields turned scarlet, he drove his staff into the man’s chest, using kinesis to cave in the ribcage. The nearest Zains, seeing what he’d done, followed his lead, and started bludgeoning their attackers backwards.

Then the fight changed again: someone – a Hadishah commander, Alaron assumed – shouted aloud and with his mind and the Hadishah darted backwards. As one, they raised their hands.

‘
WARE!
’ Alaron shouted, in unison with several others as a storm of flames and blue mage-bolts slammed into their shields.

But despite the number of attackers and their undoubted strength, they scarcely penetrated, and Alaron felt the confidence surge among his young charges, a new self-belief fusing with anger.
Right you bastards, now it’s our turn!
He waved an arm and shouted, ‘
KHOJANI, ATTACK!
’

He went straight for the Hadishah commander while his novices went for their nearest foe.

*

Ramita sensed a sudden eruption of the gnosis below, coming from the direction of the courtyard. She stiffened, dreadfully aware of Satravim’s knife resting beside her eye. But she couldn’t drag her gaze from Alyssa Dulayne, whose beautiful, sultry face was taut with tension.

‘Open the lock, Ramita!’ she snapped. ‘Last warning.’

Then at the far end of the corridor, Corinea’s door swung open and the old sorceress stepped out. ‘What’s—?’

The older Hadishah man stationed before her door didn’t hesitate. He’d positioned himself a few paces away so that he’d be behind whoever emerged, and even as Corinea spoke, he drove his dagger into the old woman’s back.

The blade broke.

Corinea didn’t gesture, or even glance in the man’s direction, but he shrieked and fell to one side, where he collapsed in a concussion of unseen gnosis. Ramita recalled the awe she’d first felt when the old woman had appeared before her in Teshwallabad, in the guise of Makheera-ji: a goddess come to life.