Cold Magics (59 page)

“Don’t even think it,” said the knight, “You hear me? We’re not alone. If you do anything, your girl’s throat is slit, understand?”

Thomas, his head aching, managed a nod and some sounds which the knight took as assent. He let Thomas alone to take care of his body’s needs as well as he could. When he was done, they put his hand back in place and tied it again. Without another word the two knights picked him up and shoved him back into the hole in the wall. When he was three-quarters in they stopped, and one undid the gag. Thomas took in a grateful breath before the other shoved a water skin into his mouth.

“Drink,” said the knight. Thomas did, and in the act of doing so, realized how desperately thirsty and hungry he was. He once more wondered how long he’d been unconscious.

The knights pulled the water skin away, shoved the gag back in place and tied it, before once more pushing him back into the crypt.

They left him there until nightfall. Thomas, with nothing better to do, let himself sleep. Three times he woke shivering, his hands and feet numb. He wriggled them as best he could, forcing some feeling back into them. By the time they pulled him out in the evening he was shivering uncontrollably.

They didn’t speak this time, just untied one of his hands and shoved him into the corner again. Thomas did what his body needed, then was pulled into the centre of the room. They re-tied his hands and checked his gag, then left him standing there. Thomas, knowing better than to move or try to speak, stood where they left him. He kept his eyes moving, though there was barely any light at all. Thomas turned his head slowly, taking in as much of the room as possible. It was a crypt—he had been right about that—and it didn’t look to be too deep in the earth. The roof was only a few feet above the knights’ heads, and a small window in one corner let what little light there was into the room. Thomas could see the inner lights of the men as they took turns, one watching him, the other vanishing from his sight. Thomas could hear the man walking up stairs and a door opening and closing, but didn’t dare turn his head to look.

The door above opened again. “It’s here,” said the first knight.

The second knight turned and hit Thomas in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and driving him to his knees. Thomas desperately tried to force air through his nose and into his lungs. The other knight came back down. One grabbed his feet, the other his shoulders, and together they hauled Thomas up the stairs and into the chapel above. Thomas saw only the floor before they dumped him onto a large piece of canvas and wrapped him in it. Thomas struggled to move, struggled to keep some breathing room, as they rolled him in the material and tied it tightly together. They picked the bundle up, carried it a short way, and Thomas felt himself being lifted and tossed. He realized he was in the air and started to panic, his imagination picturing his canvas-wrapped body flying off the edge of a cliff. He hit hard against something a second later.

There are no cliffs here, you idiot
, he thought. Something landed on him, then something else and something else. None of the weights were crushing, but they increased the oppressive closeness of the space. Claustrophobia welled up inside Thomas. He ruthlessly forced it down.

The ground lurched beneath him, and he found himself rhythmically jolted back and forth.
Probably a supply wagon
, Thomas thought.
The Bears must be getting ready to leave the city.

Which meant that Henry and George would be marching with them. Thomas felt panic rising again. If the Bears from the city joined up with the rest of their troop from the mountain cities and ambushed Henry with raiders and magic on their side, there was no way Henry could win.

Thomas forced himself to stay still, to breathe, and to wait. There was nothing he could do where he was. There was no way for him to help. Especially if he started thrashing and managed to suffocate himself under the weight of whatever they’d piled on top of his body.

The cart lumbered on. Thomas, insulated by everything piled above him, grew warm for the first time since he’d left the castle. His hands and feet began to tingle and sting, like pins dancing over his skin. Thomas could see no light to tell him of the passing of time, and had no feeling of anything beyond the scratch of the canvas and the slow lurching of the wagon.

He closed his eyes and listened as best he could. He heard snatches of conversation, the sound of wheels turning in the snow, and at one point, someone began a song that had a martial air, but Thomas couldn’t make out the words. The air grew more and more stale and finally Thomas fell asleep or passed out, he really wasn’t sure which.

He woke when the weight was pulled from his body. Hands grabbed the canvas and hauled it out of the cart. Thomas tensed, half expecting to be dropped. Instead, he felt shoulders underneath his back, and then the ride grew bumpy. Fresher, colder air began making its way in through the canvas. Thomas sniffed deeply, pulling as much of it into his lungs as he could manage.

Thomas listened, hoping for sounds of pursuit or violence that would mean they knew where he was. There was nothing; only boots crunching on the snow and the occasional whisper in a language Thomas didn’t understand. Raiders.

By the time they stopped moving, what warmth Thomas had found buried under the supplies in the wagon had long since vanished and he was shaking with cold. Thomas heard words being exchanged and what sounded like a door opening. They started moving again, only now the footsteps sounded like they were on stone. Thomas felt his head dip lower than his feet and felt the change in the rhythm of his captors’ steps, and guessed he was being carried down a slope. It was a surprisingly long slope, and the further in they went, the warmer it became—never actually approaching hot, but no longer freezing.

“Is this him?” asked someone.

“It is,” was the heavily accented reply.

“Let me see.”

They put the canvas down on the ground and unrolled it, laughing as he tumbled out of the canvas and onto the ground. Thomas lay still, dazzled by the light of a torch held over his face.

“He doesn’t look like much,” said a man. “But then, no one does when they’re like this.”

He knelt down and placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. The man stared into space. Thomas felt something go through him, but couldn’t tell what. The man let him go and stood. “He is much stronger than the others. Bring him.”

The men lifted Thomas and carried him further into the cave. Thomas stayed limp and didn’t struggle, knowing there was still nothing he could do. They carried him through several dark chambers into one lit by candles set in niches in the rough stone walls. There was a table and chair in the middle of the room. They set Thomas down on the chair and one of the men pulled a knife and held it to Thomas’s throat. Another man went to the wall behind him and came back with a shackle on a chain that he quickly secured to Thomas’s foot.

Well, I’ve been here before
, Thomas thought. He waited for them to untie his hands or legs, but no one made a move until another group of men came in, carrying a small table. Another man followed, carrying a bag with several stone rods and wooden wands. Thomas realized what they were even as the first man stepped up and put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder again. He kept it there, staring off in the distance. Thomas watched the glow of the man’s inner life; it was red all over. Thomas was growing tired, and wasn’t surprised. It had been a long day—days, Thomas realized. He had no idea how long had passed since his capture. He felt himself becoming dizzy and nearly blacked out a moment. In front of him, the man’s light grew brighter and brighter.

He’s draining me
, Thomas realized.

It wasn’t like it had been when Bishop Malloy had tried to tear out Thomas’s magic. Instead, it was as if he was using his magic continuously, only it was going into the man in front of him. He could see the man sweating and starting to tremble. “He has a great deal more energy than most,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” said the other man, the words very thickly accented. He lay a stone rod on the table. Holding his hands over it, he began chanting words Thomas did not recognize.

The guard with the knife on Thomas’s throat shifted his feet, and his breathing grew more rapid. Thomas would have bet there was fear on the man’s face. Around them, the other guards stepped away.

The man with the hand on Thomas’s chest reached his other hand out and put it on the chanting man’s shoulder. Thomas watched the magic flow out of the first man, though the body of the second, and into the stone rod. As Thomas watched the rod grew slowly brighter, though not as bright as the one he had seen when they’d been ambushed in the snow. Eventually the man let go of Thomas’s shoulder and the last of the magic flowed through the two men and into the stone wand on the table. The man was swaying now, barely able to hold his balance.

So that’s how they do it
, Thomas thought as the room spun and faded to black.
But who else are they draining?

He found out hours later when he woke up. The cell was as dark as the crypt Thomas had lain in, but the inner lights of four people lying on the floor gave him something to see by. Thomas wiggled his limbs and realized that he was no longer bound, save for a shackle around his ankle. He ran his hand over it. Steel, it felt like, or iron. He could feel no weaknesses in it, nor could he feel any in the chain that ran from his ankle to the wall, or the lock that held it in place.
I really need to learn a picklock spell
, Thomas thought.

Thomas sat himself up and felt the room spinning, even in the darkness. He held still and waited. When the spinning passed, he focused on the other people. Two were men—older, from the looks of them, though Thomas couldn’t see their faces clearly. One was an older woman, and the other could have been a boy or a young girl. Thomas called to them. “Hey! Hey! Wake up!”

One of the men stirred and groaned.

“Wake up!” Thomas shouted again. “Wake up!”

“Be quiet with your ‘wake up,’” said the man, rolling himself over and sitting. He peered out into the darkness, obviously unable to see anything. “Who are you?”

“Thomas Flarety. And you?”

“Ralph,” said the man, “Porter by name and by trade. Where are you from?”

“Elmvale,” said Thomas.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a long way south,” said Thomas. “You?”

“Not far. Gledden, south of Frostmire on the lake.”

“And the others?”

“Alice there’s from Browndell, Harry from Gordon’s Wood, and little Annice is from the city.”

“Frostmire?”

“Aye. How did you end up here?”

“Kidnapped,” said Thomas. “You?”

“Village burnt out,” said Ralph. “I was captured and dragged here. The one keeps pulling us out and lays his hands on us until we’re weak as kittens. Then he throws us back in here. Then folks vanish.”

“Vanish?” repeated Thomas. “Vanish where?”

“Don’t know,” said Ralph. “They just don’t come back.”

“I see,” said Thomas.
He drains them dry then tosses them away.
“What’s your magic?”

“Magic?” the man laughed. “If I had magic, do you think I’d still be in here? I don’t have any magic!”

“They’re pulling the magic out of us and using it to power their rods.”

“What?”

“They’re creating weapons that shoot fire, and they’re using your magic to do it.”

“I don’t have any magic!”

“He doesn’t,” said the woman, sitting up herself. “None of us do.”

Thomas doubted it very much. “Then why take you four? Why not take a dozen captives, or a hundred, and drain them all. Why just take you?”

“There were dozens of us,” said Ralph. “We’re what’s left.”

“There’s no such thing as magic, anyway,” said Alice. “It’s all just silly.”

“Then what is he doing to you?” asked Thomas.

“Well, I don’t know, but it isn’t magic. There’s no such thing.”

Thomas held out his hand into the darkness intending to make a ball of light. The attempt itself nearly put him over into unconsciousness. He swayed where he was, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“What’s going on?” said another, younger voice. The girl sat up. “Who is talking?”

“Thomas,” said Ralph. “Says he’s from the South. Says he thinks we have magic.”

“Magic?” the girl repeated, her voice shaking. “We don’t. We don’t have any magic. Why does everyone keep thinking we have magic?”

“Because that’s what they’re after,” said Thomas. “It’s how they take the villages and towns.”

“What villages and towns?” said the other man as he pulled himself upright. “What’s been happening?”

Thomas wondered at that. “How long have you four been in here?”

“There’s no way to know,” said the man. “A long time, anyway.”

“Two hundred sleeps,” said Ralph. “At least, before I lost track.”

“Some,” said the second man. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Ralph told me,” said Thomas. “Thomas Flarety. When was it you were caught?”

“Early summer,” said Harry. “What is it?”

“Winter,” said Thomas, “heading for Midwinter soon.”

“Months, then,” Harry said. “By the Four, they will never let us out of this place.”

“I don’t suppose they will,” said Thomas. “What’s the room like?”

“Large,” said Ralph. “Stone. There’s a hole in the middle of the floor that goes down a long way. None of us can jump in it, but all the chains are just long enough to reach so we can do what we need.”

“Right,” said Thomas. “We’ll need to find another way out, then.”

“Well, thank the Four none of us thought of that!” said the woman, laughing with a hard, near-hysterical edge to her voice. “Why, we might have been out by now!”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “You might.” He lay back down on the hard stone of the floor. “I need to sleep now. Wake me when they’re coming.”

“Sleep?” said the man. “You just woke us all up!”

“Aye, and now I’m telling you to sleep again,” said Thomas. “We’ll need all the strength we can muster.”