Dangerous Games (19 page)

Stone claws nipped at his boot, and he caught his balance and kicked viciously. He hurt his toes but toppled the squirming beast into the hole he’d just left, or at least he thought he did.

Crouching, sword in two hands, ready to strike anywhere, he listened. The noises had died down. Scuffles, skittering, a gurgle, were all he could hear.

Risking the chance, he called, “Knucklebones! Light!”

In answer, glowing stripes the width of a woman’s hand flared along one wall. Immediately the small thief slid away, circled, striped elsewhere. Sunbright found even that tiny illumination smarting after so much darkness.

Then he could see, and wished he couldn’t.

Two dead guards lay interlocked near him. A spider golem kicked six legs helplessly in a hole. Another guard was face down over the fire pit, another moaning from Ox’s punishing belly smash. Knucklebones had stabbed the last two, and stood over one with a bloody blade.

But Ox was dead, his neck hacked half through. Lothar, with his broken leg, had been plucked from his bed and stabbed. And Mother had been run through the lungs.

Face grim, Knucklebones called and the children, trained to run at the first sign of trouble, came creeping from the shadows: Corah, crying over her dead father, the topknotted twins Aba and Zykta, Rolon dragging his weighted chain as if it were too heavy for him.

“We must bury the dead,” Sunbright muttered. But tradition was thwarted, for there was little dirt. “We’ll do something—”

“No, we get out,” Knucklebones interrupted. She reached into a wall niche and withdrew stout sacks with straps, proceeded to fill them with food and small purses of coins. “More patrols might come any minute. Children, fetch what you can. We’ll not return.”

Sunbright stared, disbelieving, as even tiny Corah left her dead father and dug in the bed they’d shared. Circling the corpses, he grabbed Knucklebones’s arm. She whirled with a hiss like a cat’s as he demanded, “No funeral? Not even a minute to mourn? That’s damned hardhearted—”

The woman’s one eye blazed as she wrenched free and spat, “Better hardhearted than dead, country mouse! Hard hearts kept us alive, until you got here!”

The words stung, and Sunbright drew back. Miraculously, he was the only one not ready to go, for the mute children had gathered meager possessions and withdrawn through the door. Knucklebones stumped under the weight of a single sack, turned and pronounced, “Wisht!” The room went black, leaving Sunbright in darkness.

Tramping over the dead, he jogged to follow the tiny entourage. Corah, very small, called, “Where do we go?”

“To another stronghold,” replied Knucklebones over her shoulder. “I’ve scouted it—”

This time Sunbright interrupted, “No.”

The one-eyed woman glared, but he continued, “We’re not going to hide in these tunnels any longer. We’re going where people belong. Down to the ground. To freedom.”

A hand clamped over Candlemas’s mouth, jolting him from a sound sleep, terrifying him. The huge hand pinned his head, rendering him powerless as a child. As he blearily fought for breath and vision, he saw that there were several people hovering around the big canopied bed. Were these assassins?

“Can you remain quiet?”

The voice and barbarous northern accent were familiar, and Candlemas nodded. His heart continued to race, though, as if it would never slow down.

Dragging himself upright, he saw it was indeed Sunbright. With him were a scruffy, short, one-eyed woman with an elven cast to her, and four filthy children dressed in rags and carrying satchels. Questions overrode indignation, though Candlemas pulled the blanket around his ample middle. He slept naked, while these intruders were villainously clothed and armed.

“Where have you been?” the pudgy mage whispered.

“Adventuring.” Sunbright talked in a whisper as well. He sat on the edge of the bed and it creaked under his weight. The elvish thief stroked the bedposts and made glowing stripes that cast a wan light.

“I see you’ve been treated well,” the barbarian said, “Can you have food fetched? The children are hungry.”

“What?”

Candlemas rubbed his eyes. He noticed that Sunbright had a few new, livid scars and wounds wrapped in dirty bandages, but was otherwise the same.

“Who are these people?” he asked, “How did you get in here? What have you been up to? How have you managed to survive in this city without any money or contacts?”

Sunbright answered with a snort, then, “Get some food and we’ll tell you. It’s an interesting story. And I’m hungry too.”

Grumbling, Candlemas tugged on a robe and rang a bell. While the visitors hid, he ordered a night maid to fetch a platter, enough to last him all day if necessary. She left without a word, returned shortly with a silver platter heaped with loaves of bread, cheese, wine, fruits, cold sausage, raw vegetables and sauces, even delicate jam tarts.

Sunbright and the rest came out of hiding, the children gazing wide-eyed at the food. When told to dig in, they ate like wolves. Sunbright stuffed cold roast into a hollowed loaf and tore off chunks with strong white teeth.

Candlemas took mulled wine, sat in a wing chair, and said, “Now will you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

Sunbright told him, leaving out nothing. The list of dead guards made the mage shake his head. When the barbarian had finished, Candlemas related some of his work, marveling at the contrast between them. Sunbright battled spidery trackers and killer guards in the sewers while Candlemas perched in luxury and explored esoteric magic. It was hard to believe they spoke of the same city. Candlemas didn’t mention Aquesita.

The northerner nodded at Candlemas’s observations, as if they confirmed his own suspicions. He picked up a bottle and smashed the neck against the table edge, for he didn’t recognize the enchanted corkscrew next to it.

“So this Karsus is the wild-eyed nit who pitched me out into the street? And he just builds magical things and destroys friend and foe alike, and no one stops him?”

“It’s even more insane than that,” Candlemas sighed. “Karsus has no friends, only slithering toadies who slobber after him like idiot dogs. I suppose he has foes—other mages or archwizards—but they’re nothing compared to him. Karsus has whole teams of mages dusting off war machines and enervating them with this new magic. He’s like a boy in a sandbox, building tiny cities and stamping on them. And there is no one to stop him. All the archwizards in the city bow to Karsus. He owns whole tracts of the city anyway. He built it. And no one dares speak out for fear of assassination. You remember Lady Polaris?”

“The white-haired woman who got us out of hell?”

Sunbright didn’t see Knucklebones’s one eye go wide.

“Aye.” Candlemas sipped wine. “There’s enough of her now for three women. She hides all day in a dark room preening and stuffing herself like a pig. She has no concept of the danger the empire’s in, and doesn’t care. She’s probably representative of all the archwizards.”

Sunbright nodded. The children had stuffed themselves until their stomachs were round and their heads drooping. The barbarian ferried them to Candlemas’s huge bed. The mage didn’t comment on how they dirtied the sheets.

Returning, Sunbright said, “The empire’s rotten to the core, and I know, for I’ve seen the core. I’ve felt this abuse of nature and magic, and had visions of destruction—whole cities collapsing—so it can’t be far off. It emphasizes your words.”

Candlemas waved away dreams. Hard facts interested him more, and he had plenty. He found himself echoing Aquesita, defending her position. “It’s not all bad, and need not lead to devastation. Magic can be a force for good, too, don’t forget. Tamed, it’s the most powerful force in the universe. It’s Karsus who’s abusing it. Were he to disappear, the empire could regain its senses and climb to new heights—”

“No.” Sunbright cut him off, shaking his head. “All things come to an end. A tree grows tall and strong, crowding out its neighbors, but it always grows too large eventually, and rot sets in, and the core collapses, and a strong wind knocks it down to destruction. Its children may take root, may survive and grow in their own way and in a new direction, but the tree is dead and gone, its body serves as food for the young ones.”

“A simplistic view. Something for a shaman to lecture children with,” Candlemas snorted. “The empire has much greatness about it, and it’s not dead yet.”

What would Aquesita think of those words?

“I may be an ignorant barbarian, but I have eyes.” Sunbright nodded toward the bed, where petite snores whistled. “Those children were abandoned by their parents, or orphaned by your empire’s guards. A race that feeds on its young won’t last more than one generation, let alone forever. And you said yourself no one’s opposing Karsus and his cronies.”

Candlemas was disturbed by the simple logic. He wondered if Aquesita knew anything of abandoned children. Wondered, too, if she’d ever wanted children of her own? And did he? But he was daydreaming.

“How did you get into the castle?” he asked Sunbright, trying to clear his mind by filling it with a few facts. “It’s covered in glyphs at night, and patrolled regularly.”

Sunbright nodded to his traveling companion. “This is Knucklebones, another child of your empire, but one it can’t kill. She sneaked us in here. Actually, the children had no trouble either. I’m the clumsy one.”

“How do you do?” said the mage formally. Knucklebones only nodded. Rising, she left the table and slipped out into the hall. “Where’s she going?”

The barbarian raised his palms. “I’ve no idea. I ask her questions, and sometimes she answers. She’s had a hard life.”

Haven’t we all, thought Candlemas unkindly, saying nothing but, “So what are you about?”

“We’re hiding.” Sunbright sorted through the food as he spoke, looking for whatever would keep and storing it in a haversack. “I’ve killed so many of the city guards I suppose I’m an outlaw, though I don’t think any have escaped me to report back. Your city’s guards are the scum of the earth. They’d crush a child’s skull under their boots and turn it in for a bonus.”

“It’s not my city,” Candlemas corrected. But he thought of Aquesita. It was her city, the good parts anyway.

For answer, Sunbright only looked around the opulent suite lit by stripes of white light. The mage found himself stammering, “Karsus is—is grateful we, uh, retrieved the, uh, fallen star, is all.”

Sunbright grinned like a wolf. “I’ve got scars and dead companions to attest to his gratitude.”

Miffed, Candlemas banged down the goblet. “To get back. What are you about?”

Sunbright popped grapes in his mouth, then used a goblet of spring water and a satin napkin to swab grime off his wounds. “I’d like to get down to the ground with these little ones. It’s not safe in the city for us. For some reason Knucklebones can’t guess, the guards actually expended time and coin to fashion those spider golems to kill us. I’d like to ask you—please—to work your shifting spell and get us down to earth. We can’t use a transgate, whatever that is, according to Knucklebones. But we must leave, so we came to you for help, though we’ll be parting company now.”

There was a touch of regret in his voice.

Candlemas was surprised by a pang too. Sunbright was not exactly a friend, but was more than an acquaintance, and a familiar link to the past. Certainly Candlemas had no friends here. Except Aquesita.

Thought of one woman made him think of another. “What about Greenwillow?”

“Greenwillow …” Sunbright breathed the name as if it contained his soul, “… I don’t know. We’re so far out of our time—”

“Have you thought of returning?”

The barbarian jerked, dropped his filthy napkin.

“Is that possible?”

Candlemas had surprised himself again.

“Well,” the pudgy mage answered, “it just popped into my head. I don’t know … Karsus brought us here with a chronoma—a time travel spell. I’d heard stories about the concept, everyone had, but never seen or read of it done. Yet he seemed to do it on a whim, so it must be doable. What I don’t know is: can I do it?”

“Or get Karsus to do it?” Sunbright offered. “Or show you how?”

The mage rubbed his bald head, rose, and paced. “I don’t even know if Karsus even knows anymore how he did it. Half his magic is instinctual. He simply imagines a spell and it happens. They say he could firefinger—a cantra—at age two. At twenty-two, he was the youngest archwizard ever, and now he’s three hundred and something!”

Sunbright squinted. He’d known that mages lengthened their lives magically, but hadn’t realized how much. To him, and his people, sixty years old was ancient.

Candlemas continued to pace in bare feet. “If I could convince Karsus,” he thought aloud, “—if I could get near him—I might be able to learn the spell. Might… their magic is so advanced here, I should be lucky to scrub tables.”

Sunbright nodded, for the first time realizing how tough Candlemas actually had it. In a way, he was a barbarian among mages.

“But you could learn it? And send us back—”

“Us?” Candlemas stopped him. “I don’t want to go back!”

“You don’t? Why? If you’re an ignorant peasant here and an important man back there? And this empire’s going to crash around your ears. What’s keeping you here?”

Candlemas wouldn’t answer, though her name was on his tongue. Aquesita. Even her name was heavenly.

“Never mind. I’ll try to learn the spell, and well work out a way to stay in touch. In the meantime, I can get you down to the ground. I think.”

“We don’t want to go to the ground,” retorted a low voice.

The men turned, startled. Knucklebones had opened and shut the door and walked up behind Candlemas without either of the two men noticing. A bulging sack hung over one slim shoulder. She set it down with a chink.

Sunbright nodded. “What’s in there?”

“Nothing that’ll be missed, much. We’re not going down to the ground. You can go by yourself.”

“We’ve decided this already,” Sunbright sighed. “On the way here. You said the city is making a special effort to kill you, or me, or both of us, though we don’t know why. It won’t be safe anywhere. We must get down—”