Cold Magics (12 page)

“Michael didn’t say. Sir Michael!” The knight poked his head through the door. “Did you see any sections of the wall in the apartment ripped out?”

“No, my lord.”

“Did you check all the rooms?”

“Not for that.”

“They could still be there,” said Thomas. He grabbed the side of the tub and levered himself out of the water, gasping and cursing the agony that ran through his arms. “We have to get them.”

“They’ll be watching the apartment,” said Michael. “Waiting for you to go back there.”

Thomas grabbed a towel and dried himself, ignoring the scrape of it on his abraded skin. “The students are celebrating their victory. The church guard won’t dare go amongst them.”

Thomas reached for the clothes Henry had brought. They were new: braies, black breeches, jacket and boots, and a white shirt. None looked like they were going to fit properly.

“You’re not really in shape for this,” said Henry.

“I’m going,” said Thomas. He pulled up the breeches, then reached for the shirt. “They kept me for two days to learn…” He remembered Sir Michael’s presence and didn’t finish the sentence. “I’m getting the books, and then I’m going north with you. Otherwise, they’ve won.”

Henry nodded. “Fine. We go.”

“Wish I had a sword,” said Thomas, pulling on boots that were too small for his feet.

“Lift your arms above your head,” said Henry. Thomas tried. He couldn’t get them above shoulder height without agony. “Tomorrow you hold a sword,” said Henry. “Tonight, we do it for you. Now, come on.”

The party was in full swing when they arrived at the apartments. Students were singing and laughing, drinking and dancing without regard for classes the next day. All the balconies were full, despite the cold, blustery weather. Lights shone in almost every apartment. A large fire lit the courtyard, throwing the buildings and the inhabitants into yellow and orange relief. There was no sign of debris in the fountain, and Thomas wondered how much of it had ended up in the bonfire.

Thomas was spotted the moment he stepped into the yard. Someone called out his name, then someone else, and then a cheer went up. Students surrounded him, and he soon found himself lifted onto their shoulders. It hurt. The muscles in his legs and arms and back all protested at having to balance his body, but the students paraded him around the courtyard before they set him down. A dozen bottles were proffered, and Thomas found himself taking sips from each one, just to be polite. The cheap wine burned its way down, and in his exhausted, hungered state, it went to his head almost at once.

Should have used the back door
, Thomas thought.
Stupid
.

“The back door would have been a damn sight easier,” said Henry, appearing at his side.

“I’d realized that myself.”

“Pity you didn’t realize it sooner,” said Henry. “Come on.”

Henry led the way across the courtyard, the two of them shaking a good dozen hands on the way, and a dozen more on the stairs. Thomas struggled to make it up the stairs and had to rest twice before he reached the top.

The apartment was bare save for the bloodstains on the floor. Firelight, yellow and orange, slipped in through the open door and danced on the bare walls. The furniture was gone, the brazier was gone; the bookshelves had been ripped from the walls leaving only a scattering of splinters. The doors had been torn from the kitchen cupboards and the crockery was all gone. Thomas stared at the empty rooms. Two years of his life had been torn away in the course of a single afternoon.

“The wall’s intact,” Henry called.

Thomas forced his eyes from the empty space and went into his bedroom. It, too, was empty. His clothing chest, his bed, his desk—all gone. But Henry was there, waiting.

Thomas sighed and went over to the wall.

The panel was hard to see. Thomas had made it that way. He borrowed Henry’s dagger and scraped at the wood until a section of the baseboard came slightly loose. He pushed the dagger in further, then popped the wood out of place. Thomas set the dagger aside and reached into the space. A moment later, an entire section of plaster and lathe moved under his hands. He set it to one side, then gently pulled out the books.

The charms he had cast over them, keeping them from mice and insects, had worked. The books were coated in dust, but intact.

Thomas dusted the covers off and tucked them under his arm.

He stood and took one last look at his apartment. Anger welled up again. He tried to set the feeling aside, reminding himself that fairness was for children and games. This had been an act of violence, plain and simple. “Come on,” he said to Henry. “Let’s get out of here.”

“The back way,” said Henry. “Before those yahoos decide you need to do another lap of the courtyard.”

He was amazed at his relief when they escaped the building and stepped out into the cold night air.

By the Four, I’m tired
, Thomas thought.

Sir Lawrence and Sir Michael both waited, mounted and holding the reins to Henry’s horse. Lawrence held out a hand to Thomas and he gratefully accepted it, wincing as he jumped up and let Lawrence haul him into the saddle.

Henry waved them forward and the four of them rode toward the residence at a trot. Thomas clung tight to Lawrence’s waist, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep and fall off the horse. Lawrence sensed his exhaustion and began peppering him with questions: where was he from, who were his friends, and what was the Academy like? Thomas did his best to answer and managed to stay awake until they reached the Residence.

“Thank you gentlemen very much,” said Thomas as he slid off the back of the horse. He found himself wobbling on his feet, a bit light-headed. He caught the saddle with one hand and held on until the spell passed. “Sorry to be so much trouble.”

“Not to worry,” said Lawrence. “I’ll get the horses away, Lord Henry. Michael can see Thomas to his rooms, if you like.”

“Aye,” agreed Michael, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. “Come, lad. It will all seem better in the morning.”

“Not just yet,” said Henry, leading them inside. “This way first.”

Henry led them to the banquet chamber they’d supped in only two days previous. Henry’s knights and the two barons were inside, along with Lionel, Eileen and George. The knights and barons rose when Henry walked in. The moment she saw Thomas, Eileen broke away from the table and ran to him, hurling herself at him and wrapping her arms around him. Lawrence’s hand at Thomas’s back was all that kept him from falling. Eileen held him tightly for a long time, the sounds of her sobs muffled by his shirt. No one spoke until Henry said, “Let him sit, Eileen. He’s practically falling down where he’s standing.”

Eileen pulled her face away and looked at Thomas. He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. She kissed back, holding it far longer, Thomas guessed, than her father was going to be comfortable with. At the moment, Thomas didn’t much care.

When they broke apart, Eileen took his hand and led him to the table. “I’ve been so worried,” she said. “We’ve saved some food for you.”

She sat Thomas across from George and Lionel, not letting go of his hand. Lionel was shaking his head, but didn’t say anything. George poured Thomas some wine, then handed over a plate of pastries. “Here,” he said. “We kept the blueberry ones for you.”

Thanks,” said Thomas. He picked one up but didn’t take a bite. He looked over at Lionel. “I’m sorry, sir. For the stab and for…” He looked over at Eileen and saw the concern and fear in her expression. “And for being trouble to you and yours.”

“Aye, you’ve been that,” said Lionel. “It’s good Henry went after you, because I don’t think that one,” he gestured at his daughter, “would have stopped crying for months if anything had happened.” Lionel rubbed at his face; a weary gesture that nearly hid the emotion in his expression. “Not to mention what your mother would say.”

“I’m afraid it’s their mother you need to be worried about,” said Thomas. Lionel’s eyebrows rose, and Thomas knew that ploughing ahead was the only thing to do. “They’ve called for George and Eileen’s arrest, too.”

“Us?” said George. “Why us?”

“You were there when I killed Bishop Malloy.”

George swore at length. “How soon will they come after us?”

“They’re already after you,” said Thomas. “They could be surrounding this place now, for all I know.”

“Well, they can’t do that,” said Henry. “This is the king’s own Residence, and anyone approaching it needs his permission to enter.”

Eileen looked over at Henry. “We didn’t need it.”

“You already had it,” said Henry. “So does Lionel, now.”

“Which doesn’t do any of us a bit of good,” said Lionel. “We have to leave the city. We have to go home!”

“You have to go home,” Thomas said to Lionel, but looking at George and Eileen.

“Are you still going north?” asked George.

“Aye,” said Thomas. He looked at his friend, then at Eileen. Both their faces were lined with worry, exhaustion and sadness. “And I’m taking you both with me.”

8

The silence lasted only a moment. Then Lionel was on his feet. “You’re what?!”

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas. “The church is after them. They know they’re from Elmvale. They will follow you and take them.”

“You can’t take them with you! Their mother will have their hides! She’ll have my hide!”

“Where else can they go?” Thomas asked, getting to his own feet. Lionel was changing colour; knowing the smith’s temper, Thomas was not inclined to be sitting when the man was turning red. “They’ll be hunted, Lionel.”

“And what will they be if they go with you?” Lionel demanded. “Do you think the church won’t go after them there?”

“They will not,” said Henry.

Lionel rounded upon the young lord. “And how do you know that?”

“Because we won’t let them,” said Henry.

“Thomas is a good lad who needs to finish his studies! There’s no need to drag him north to be a common foot soldier for you. You could get a dozen men for what it costs to send him to the Academy for a year.”

“Fifteen, actually,” said Henry.

“So why don’t you get them?”

I do not want to have this discussion
, thought Thomas.
I’m too tired for it
. “I need to go to bed.”

“Bed?” Lionel turned back to him. “You can’t just say you’re taking my children off into whatever kind of trouble you’re in and then go off to bed!”

“Walk with me,” said Thomas. “Eileen, George, you too.” He looked to Henry. “With your permission?”

Henry looked rather unsure, but nodded his head. Thomas bowed, then turned and walked out the door. When he looked back, Lionel was still standing in the middle of the room, head turning back and forth between Thomas and Henry. Thomas gestured at George and Eileen to come with him, and called, “Lionel. Please.”

Eileen, then George, bowed to Henry and walked past their father, joining Thomas in the hallway. Lionel didn’t move. At last, Henry said, “I am retiring for the night. Sir Lawrence, Sir Michael, will you give our guest escort?”

Lawrence and Michael stepped toward Lionel. The big smith looked them over, then turned on his heel and stomped out of the room. When he reached Thomas, he said, “We’re not done talking.”

“No,” said Thomas. “We’re not.” He turned to the waiting servant. “Escort us to Lionel’s room, please.”

The servant nodded and led the way up the stairs to the rooms on the floor above. After a short walk down a side corridor, the servant stopped and opened a door. “Here you are, sir.” The room was dark. “Shall I light the fire?”

“No,” said Thomas. “Thank you.”

“Then, a candle for you, sir?”

“No need,” said Thomas. “We will take care of it. But if you would wait to escort the rest of us back to our rooms, that would be appreciated. We won’t be long.”

“Of course, sir.” The servant bowed and stepped aside.

Thomas led them into the dark room. “Close the door, George.”

George hesitated a moment, then did as he was told. To the eyes of his friends, Thomas knew, the room was nearly completely dark. The curtains had been closed and almost no light seeped through the thin spaces between them. Thomas turned back and saw all three of them, lit by their own inner light.

“What are you playing at, lad?” demanded Lionel.

“The reason I have to go north,” said Thomas into the dark room. “Is that someone is attacking Frostmire. They come at night, they kill without warning, and they use magic.”

“Magic?” repeated Lionel. “What sort of nonsense is that?”

“It’s not nonsense,” said Thomas. “Henry asked me to go north with him because I’m the only one with any experience.”

“What experience?” demanded Lionel. “In battle? Henry has far more experience than you!”

Thomas sighed and raised a hand, palm up and open. “No, he doesn’t.”

A small, blue ball of light appeared in his hand, glowing brightly enough to fill the room.

“By the Four!” Lionel practically shouted, jumping back.

“Oh, Thomas,” said Eileen, relief, wonder and fear fighting for a place in her voice. George shook his head and looked to his father. Lionel was standing, his mouth wide, staring at the ball of light.

It was a long moment before Lionel spoke. When he did, it was almost a croak. “What in the names of the Banished is that?”

“Nothing in the names of the Banished,” said Thomas. “It’s magic.”

“The juggler at the May Fair,” said Lionel, raising a shaking finger at the ball of light. “He had a trick like this.”

“He did,” said Thomas. “That’s where I first saw it.”

“But it was a wooden ball,” said Lionel, still shaking his finger. “He showed it to everyone.”

“The wooden ball was the trick,” said Thomas. “The light was real.”

“It can’t be,” said Lionel. “How are you doing that?”

“Magic,” said Eileen. “He learned to do magic at the beginning of the summer, when we fought Bishop Malloy.”

Lionel looked to his daughter. “There’s no such thing.”

“You’re looking at it, Da,” said George. “It’s real.”