Cold Magics (53 page)

“He was hurt,” said Mark. “Took a blade in the leg and another in the face. Wasn’t dead last time I saw him, but they took him away.”

Thomas nodded. “We’ll find out where the injured are once we’re done with this stupidity,” he said. “And we’ll have our dead buried as well, I guess. I’ll talk to Lord Henry. But for now, we need to get going.”

The students formed up into a pair of ragged lines and Thomas led them through the streets of the city. George rode beside them, moving slowly. People watched from doorways and some called out, wanting information. George or the students told them what they could as they went by, but Thomas kept everyone moving.

At the first major cross-street they nearly ran into Father Roberts and his men, riding through the streets. Like George and the students and Thomas himself, they were covered in soot, mud, and blood. Thomas remembered that Father Roberts had brought twenty men with him, and did a quick count. Five were missing. The man himself looked exhausted and grim, and carried a still-bloody sword in his hand. There was no sign of the inquisitor.

Thomas stopped and raised an arm to his students. They jostled to a halt while George rode up beside Thomas. Father Roberts saw them a moment later and stopped his own troop. “Thomas.”

“Father,” said Thomas. “What news?”

“The fighting seems to be done,” said the priest. “Lord Richard has recalled our troops to the castle. You?”

“Lord Henry reminded me I may have appointments this morning.”

The priest stared a moment, then remembered. “Ah, yes. That. And the rest of them?”

“Are coming to make sure the appointments are kept properly.”

The envoy nodded and made a pair of signs with his hand. His guards rode forward, splitting to either side to make a path down the road. “Why don’t we escort you, since we are all going in the same direction? I have heard rumours of what happened in the castle last night and would like to hear about it from one who was there.”

Thomas looked at the rows of horsemen on either side of the street and knew that, should he put his students between them, they would be as good as dead if Father Roberts decided to take Thomas into custody. “Why don’t you ride ahead?” Thomas suggested. “We’ll follow.”

Father Roberts’s lips quirked to one side in what was almost a half-smile. “What are you afraid of, Thomas?”

“Captain,” Thomas corrected. “And I am afraid of missing the appointments I have promised Lord Henry I would attend. Ride ahead.”

“If I wanted to take you,” said Father Roberts, “I could do it right now.” His men shifted on their horses, hands tightening around weapons, legs tightening around their animals. Thomas’s troop all looked to him.

Of all the times…
“You could,” agreed Thomas. “Are you going to?”

“Not just yet. Now, will you come with us to the castle?”

There is no way out of this.
“I don’t like craning my neck when I talk,” said Thomas. “Perhaps you would care to walk with me while I tell you what happened?”

The priest laughed, short and tired and humourless. “Of course.” He sheathed his blade and signalled his men to do the same before dismounting. He handed the reins of his horse to one of his guard. “Now, shall we go?”

“Aye,” said Thomas.

He led his students forward in between the lines of the priest’s soldiers. The students looked wary. They all knew of Thomas’s history with the Church of the High Father, and they knew the church’s opinion of magic. They followed anyway. George stayed back, slipping into position behind the soldiers. The priest fell into step with Thomas. For the first pair of blocks, there was nothing but uncomfortable silence between them. “I heard your students acquitted themselves well,” Roberts said, at last.

“They did,” said Thomas. “In the streets and in the castle.”

“And you apparently did some remarkable things last night.”

“You could call them that.”

“I could call them witchcraft.”

“Magic,” corrected Thomas. There was no point in denying it. No point in denying anything anymore. Given how effective the various spy networks were in the palace, what he had done was probably already known throughout the city, and would be known throughout the country by spring. Part of him wondered how long he was going to survive, once he left the North.
Assuming I survive this morning, of course.

Father Roberts let that pass. “So that’s why Henry wanted you here.”

“In part,” said Thomas. “He also wanted me to discover the source of the enemy’s magic.”

“And have you?”

“Aye,” said Thomas. He remembered then the two rods, one stone, one wood, that he’d put in his belt the night before. His hand stole down to them. By some miracle, they were still there, and he pulled them out.

Father Roberts looked to Thomas’s hand. “What are those?”

“How the enemy uses magic,” said Thomas. “The wood one sends out fog. The other shoots fire.”

The priest involuntarily took a step away. “And you captured them?”

“Aye,” said Thomas.

Father Roberts stayed silent for another couple of blocks. “Bishop Malloy,” he said at last. “Did he really use witchcraft?”

“Magic,” corrected Thomas again. “Yes, he did. He used it to pull magic from others and make it his own. He killed at least three people doing it, and when it wasn’t enough, he tried to sacrifice children to get more.”

“So you said at the trials,” said Father Roberts. His tone, surprisingly, was neutral, rather than accusing. “Current opinion in the church is that it could have just as easily been you sacrificing the children and the bishop trying to stop you.”

Thomas shook his head. “In Bishop Malloy’s chapel?” he asked. “On his estate? With children his men pulled from a church-run orphanage? Using a spell that doesn’t even work?” Thomas shook his head. “Don’t be stupid.”

The priest frowned. “How would you know the spell doesn’t work?”

“I read it.” Father Roberts waited for more, but Thomas wasn’t in the mood to give it. Instead he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

“Witchcraft falls under the jurisdiction of the church.”

“But magic doesn’t,” said Thomas. “And neither do students. We are answerable only to the king.”

“The king is very far away.”

“You’re the second person who’s used that as a threat,” said Thomas.

“Really?” Father Roberts sounded genuinely interested. “Who was the first?”

Flames shot out of the buildings on either side, enveloping horses and riders and filling the street with heat and light. Men and animals screamed in pain and a dozens of men poured into the streets, blades out and shouting as they attacked.

“Charge!” screamed Thomas and Father Roberts at once. Flames burst out again, and this time the edge of the flames licked Thomas, lighting his cloak. He struggled to throw it off while running into the middle of the street. He could see men through the second floor windows on both sides with rods in their hands. Praying he had the strength, he raised a hand and blasted lightning out.

The thunderclap was near-deafening. One man flew back from the window, and the troops on all sides reeled back. “Attack!” Thomas screamed. He hoped those around him could hear him over the ringing in their ears. “Attack!”

George was the first in motion, riding forward and slashing down with his blade on the enemy. His actions brought both sides out of their stupor and men charged forward again, blades stabbing and cutting at one another. The church guards drove their animals forward, smashing into the enemy and hacking with their swords. The students in the middle dashed back and forth, attacking any of the enemy who broke through the line.

From the window of the building across the street, a man raised a rod, pointed it at Thomas and shouted, “Kyun skob!”

Thomas dove out of the way as fire rained down towards him. Father Roberts was caught in the flames and screamed as his clothes caught fire. He dropped to the street and rolled. Flame roared out again and Thomas kept rolling, feeling his strength draining with the movement. He came up and raised his own hand, trying to find the rod-wielder even as black spots danced in front of his eyes.

Someone tackled him as flames rained down on them again. The jolt knocked him cold. When he came to, he was being dragged backwards through the streets by Eileen and Marcus. The battle was still raging, though he couldn’t see any more flames. Students had charged into the houses, while Father Roberts’s men chased down the remaining raiders in the streets.

“I’m awake,” Thomas managed. “I’m awake! Stop!”

They stopped pulling and were helping him to his feet when flame roared out from one of the building’s windows, rising over the heads of the men on the street and hitting the building on the other side. Over the screaming of men and horses and the sounds of battle, Thomas heard George’s voice, raised in a wordless roar. One of the enemy came flying backwards out of the window and hit the ground with a dull thud and a cracking noise. He lay still, the stone rod still clasped in his hand.

“Get me to my feet!” yelled Thomas. “Get me back there!”

Marcus started helping him up. Eileen looked ready to argue, but Thomas shouted, “Do it!” and she reached in to help. Thomas leaned heavily on them as they moved back towards the fight. Other students and the priest’s men emerged from the buildings, bloody and smoky.

The battle was over before Thomas reached Father Roberts. The man was on his feet again, his clothes and skin burned from the flames. Dead men and horses lay around him. He was staring at Thomas. “The fire…”

“Was them,” said Thomas. The remaining of the priest’s men still had weapons in their hands and were staring at him, fear and loathing in their eyes. He ignored them. “Can you ride, Father?”

Father Roberts’s eyes were glazed and wide, staring at Thomas blankly. Thomas looked at the soldiers and students, milling in the streets.

“Form up!” Thomas yelled. “Soldiers, look after the wounded. And someone go get Henry! He needs to know.”

The students started coming together. The church soldiers stood, staring. Thomas cursed them roundly. “George, take your horse and find some reinforcements! Students, form up a watch on either end of the streets! You soldiers do something useful and find a place to put the wounded.” George and the students scrambled to do as they were told. A moment later, the church soldiers followed suit.

It was over an hour before reinforcements came, the wounded were taken care of and Thomas could lead his remaining students to the castle. Thomas was cold and tired and his shivers had started again. He cursed heartily at the entire world and especially the young nobility of Frostmire.

26

Smoke shrouded the castle, but there was no sign of flames. The guards on duty were singed and bloody and looked exhausted. Knights wearing the duke’s colours reinforced them, marching along the walls. More men—Henry’s town levies, Thomas guessed—walked patrols outside the walls.

Someone on the wall shouted, “It’s Captain Thomas and the students!”

A cheer rose. Thomas nearly fell over in surprise. Half a hundred men came forward as the exhausted students marched into the courtyard. Thomas had his hand shook and was slapped on the back a dozen times before he was halfway across the courtyard. At the door to the great hall, Sir Patrick stood, waiting.

“What took so long?” he demanded. “Henry sent me here an hour ago.” He looked Thomas up and down. “You’re shaking.”

“We were attacked,” said Thomas. “I used magic.”

“Can you fight?”

“I’m about to find out.”

Thomas, with Eileen at his side and George and Sir Patrick following behind, led the students into the inner keep.

The great hall had been turned into a makeshift infirmary, with dozens of wounded men lying on rugs on the floor. The stink of blood and the cries of the wounded nearly overwhelmed Thomas. Eileen turned her face away and behind them, Thomas heard a couple of the students gagging. He forced them all to keep moving forward, even though he spotted a half-dozen young men in black uniforms lying together on the floor. He promised himself he’d visit them later, if he could.

Assuming I’m not lying beside them.

The halls of the keep still smelled of smoke, and people scurried through them, some carrying buckets and mops, others with bandages, still others carrying out the dead. Nobility and servants looked to be in equal shock. All got out of the way as Thomas led his troop forward. They reached the practice room and, with a deep breath, Thomas shoved open the doors.

Eight of the lords—Steven, Cormac, James, Anthony, Andrew, Edward, Ethan, and Charles, who was leaning on Geoffrey—were standing in the hall, close to the fire. They had Baron Goshawk surrounded and were badgering him with questions. The sound of the doors banging off the walls and the sight of Thomas and his students made them fall silent. The nobles were in their clothes from the banquet the night before, and while they all looked rumpled, none had blood on them. By contrast, the baron was bandaged in three places, and had soot and blood on his clothes. Looking at him made Thomas realize how filthy and sore and tired he was. He heartily wished he could be somewhere else.

Baron Goshawk left the fire and came over to Thomas and his students. “Not taking any chances?”

“Henry’s idea,” said Thomas.

“How are you?” asked Goshawk. His eyes landed on Eileen and stayed there. In a moment he realized who she was. When he did, he turned on Thomas. “Are you insane?”

“Not his idea,” said Eileen.

“Of all the… ill-conceived—”

“I’ve already had this fight once today,” said Eileen, her voice hard. Behind her, the students were looking at one another in surprise. “I am not having it again.”

“Another time, Baron,” said Thomas. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” said the baron. He looked ready to say more to Eileen, but the grim expression on her face kept him from it. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Had some stew last night,” said Thomas. “Who is it going to be?”

“They haven’t said, yet. They were too busy taking bets on whether or not you’d come at all.”