His Cure For Magic (Book 2) (4 page)

He got to his feet and started heading away from the camp, away from the tents and horses. They had set up at the edge of the Darling Glen, not far from where he had confronted the farmer's boy. He knew there was a stream nearby. A cold drink, a splash of water on his face. That was what he needed.
 

The first step sent a searing pain to his temple, and Wilem fought to stay silent. The last thing he wanted was to show any weakness in front of the General. The man was older than even Captain Lawson, and yet he could out run, out fight, and out work any of the soldiers in the camp.
 

The second step made him nauseous, and it was all he could do to keep himself from vomiting. Tears rose to his eyes, his nose began to run, and his mouth became thick with moisture. He swallowed and reached out, grabbing on to the cold ircidium-laced iron bars of the collection wagon, trying to regain his composure.

"... Constable said he had passed through around the same time we left Aventown. He said they looked haggard, like they haven't been sleeping much."

Wilem held his eyes closed, trying to calm the sickness in his stomach and the thumping in his head. He was only vaguely aware of the conversation Lawson and the General were having.
 

"It sounds like they're headed somewhere..."
 

He took a few more deep breaths, but still felt like he couldn't swallow enough air. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the world beginning to spin. Before he had wanted to go to the stream. Now he merely wished to get to the other side of the wagon, out of sight of the soldiers. He let go of the bar.

He took three more steps, and then fell, throwing his arms forward to catch himself and winding up with his face against the cool grass. The pounding intensified, and he began to feel hot.

###

"Wilem?"

He opened his eyes, but he still couldn't see. Everything was moving, rocking from side to side and bouncing up and down.
 

"Wilem."

He knew the voice. Talia. He groaned and moved his tongue around a dry mouth that tasted like dirt and tree bark.
 

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he said. His vision began to clear, and he found Talia was leaning over him, her golden, delicate face close enough for him to smell the honey on her breath. "I can hear you."

She didn't smile. He had never seen her smile. She did sit up and then hold out a skin of water. "Drink this."

With her face off to the side, Wilem could tell by the canvas above him that he was on his back in the supply wagon, and they were on the move. He took the skin and slowly sat up, expecting to feel horrible but being happily surprised.

"It was a simple cast," he said. "It shouldn't have drained me like that."

They had taught him to control the Curse. Then they had taught him of its limitations. He understood that the body could only handle so much at one time, and that the blood they lost would weaken them more quickly than regular people. He knew they had to be careful, not just during the use of their Curse, but over the course of many days and many casts. Over time, they would get tired, no matter what they did. Over time, they would collapse and begin to die. There was only one way to prevent it, and that was to have some of their blood extracted and taken back to some place called the 'Refinery', where it was strengthened before being returned to them. The highest ranking officer was in charge of the special vials the blood was stored in, though in General Clau's case he left that to Kelkin.

He had been assigned to Clau's personal retinue because of his strength and control, a new young prodigy to take over for the aging Mediator with the brown teeth and sneering smile. It seemed impossible that he could have overextended himself, but he knew by the soreness in his neck that he had been given an injection.

"Are you sure you cast it properly?" Talia asked. "I understand it may have been difficult to relax with the way the General handled the farmer."

Wilem shook his head. "No, it wasn't that. His methods can be a little... unsettling, but I understand the need."

The reason they hunted the Cursed was because of the damage they could do. To others with their unrefined power, and to themselves with their unrefined blood. They could doom themselves to a slow, agonizing death, and countless others to any number of catastrophes. Wilem had heard one story of a young Cursed girl in Scapesmoth who had discovered a gem while playing, and had inadvertently caused an explosion that destroyed half her town and killed over five hundred people. If it meant taking one or two lives, or even the lives of an entire village to end that threat, it was worth it.
 

Not to mention that the Liar wanted to bring them all together, so that he could use them to destroy the Empire. They were simply too powerful to be left unchecked.

"Well, even if it was miscast, it's nothing to be ashamed of, child. It's common for young Mediators to be a little... unstable."

Child? Unstable? Wilem tried to hide his anger. He knew their refined blood helped to keep them younger than their years, but he was sure she wasn't old enough to be calling him child. Besides, she was here because of him, not the other way around. It was standard practice for the superior to travel with their charge for the first one hundred days.

"So, where are we headed?" he asked, changing the topic. What was done was done, there was no sense in continuing on with it. "Do we have another Cursed to collect?"
 

Wilem had heard the number of Cursed was growing, to the point that they were often struggling to find a Mediator to go collect them. Regular soldiers were fine for hunting down the runners, but it took a much more delicate hand to guide them into
his
family.

"No. A messenger rode in last night while you were sleeping. I don't know what he said to the General, but Clau had us break camp immediately and head south towards Varrow."

"It must be important if he didn't allow his men to sleep."

"Now that you're up, you can ride. Carrying you in the wagon will tire the pack horses sooner." She gave him a hint of a smirk and stepped to the rear of the wagon, placing her leather booted foot on the short ledge and vaulting off to the ground below. She landed smoothly, and then swept around so that her cloak flowed out behind her like wings. She winked at him, and then vanished from sight.

Showing off, Wilem knew, trying to prove her control was better than his by using her power in full view of the soldiers, yet so subtly that they would never guess. If Kelkin hadn't felt it, he would truly be impressed. Still, he didn't know why his teacher felt the need to prove anything in front of him. He respected her skill and her position, and made every effort to maintain his own status as her lesser. It was a truth he wasn't willing to reveal to anyone.
 

He was holding back.

Something had caused him to weaken much sooner than he should have, though. Kelkin would carry two vials for each of them, and they were meant to last three to six months at the worst. That he had already used one was a curiosity, and a problem that he resolved himself to get to the bottom of.
 

Wilem slid off the wooden crates and barrels he had been laid out on, and walked to the back of the wagon. Before, they would have claimed what provisions they needed from the villages they would visit, but the coming of the Liar had brought the coming of dissent, and the dissent had led many villages to burn or hide their stores at the first word of
his
soldiers' arrival. They were more fortunate than they realized when General Clau arrived with his retinue; he was much more forgiving of their defiance than most.

A deep breath, and Wilem gathered the energy of his Curse, feeling the tingling of it moving through his veins.
 

"Flacren," he whispered, not even loud enough for himself to hear.
 

He jumped off the back of the wagon and fell to the ground, the descent slowed just enough to allow him to land on his feet without stumbling. He twirled his cloak behind him as Talia had done, and then found Strider, tied loosely to the rear of the cart. He jogged along with it in order to cast off the tie, and then timed his leap, getting his foot in a stirrup and pulling himself onto the mount with the grace of an acrobat.

"Let's see Talia do that," he said.

CHAPTER FIVE

Eryn

"No survivors?"
 

Eryn felt like she could barely breathe, the tears springing unbidden to her eyes. What of Morie, Bryant, and the rest of the troupe? What of Robar and Sena, who had returned to Elling to help them rebuild the theater? What of all the Cursed boys and girls and their families, who had been flooding into the city in hopes of escaping
his
poisonous grasp?
 

"I'm sorry," Andreaus said again. He said the words, but he didn't look the part. "If it is of any consolation, there may be an opportunity to turn this defeat into a much more lasting victory."
 

Eryn wiped her tears, but new ones took their place. She couldn't believe that it was gone. Everything they had fought so hard for, wiped away in a single strike. She fought against the sadness and anger that burned into her heart, trying to calm a mounting rage.

"Eryn," Silas said, with a mind to comfort her. He too was lost for answers. "Victory, Andreaus? The only victory that will last will come when
he
is dead."

"I agree, which is why this may be a gift in disguise. A large portion of the veteran forces were sent to Elling to deal with the rebellion. The soldiers that remain to the south of the Killorn mountains are new recruits and journeymen at best. If you can find
him
and kill
him
before the more experienced armies return, the resistance can route the forces here and take decisive control of the bulk of the Empire."
 

There was an excited edge to his voice, an edge that caused Eryn's anger to boil over.

"How can you be so happy about this?" she asked, turning on Andreaus, her voice rising. "Do you know how many people lived in Elling? Do you know how many families had gone there to escape
him
? There's no gift to be found in their death, merchant." She felt the tingling between her ears, starting to run down her spine. Her magic was responding to her anger. She closed her eyes and backed away, trying to calm herself. Hurting him would solve nothing.

"You aren't wrong," Silas said, his voice strong but trembling. "Andreaus isn't wrong either, though I think he should have chosen his words more carefully. The massacre of Elling has already come to pass, and no amount of anger will change it. What we can do, what we must do for these people is to keep on with all of the strength we can manage."

Eryn didn't find much comfort in his words, but she valued them all the same. He was right. She forced back her tears, eased her magic to rest, wiped her eyes, and stood with him.

Silas looked at Eryn, and she could see the fire burning in him. He was as upset as she was, but he was putting it to better use, working through the possibilities and forging ahead. "They didn't come through the Killorn Pass, or we would have seen them on our way into Portnis. That means they must have sailed the coast around from Edgewater. Sailing an army is not a quick and easy task. You said Elling was lost a month ago?"

Andreaus nodded. "That is what my stablehand told me, before I left for Varrow. It would be six weeks by now."

"They'll still be spreading across the province, looking for any who escaped. They'll need to be certain none of the Cursed evaded them." He held out his hands, tapping fingers together in a strange ritual that Eryn didn't understand. "It's getting late in the year for them to return through the mountains in any kind of numbers, which means they'll have to sail around again. If I'm correct, that gives us four months to see
him
to
his
end in order to replace
his
Empire as bloodlessly as possible."

"Four months sounds right, Silas, but there will be blood."

"If there must, then let it be of those that are loyal to
him
, and not the slaves in the ore mines, or the Cursed who live every day in fear."

"By Amman, may it be so." Eryn said.
 

"Now, merchant. You said you would bring us to the Heart?"

"Yes. Wait here." He walked down to the mouth of the alley and scanned in both directions. Satisfied, he motioned them to join him. "It will look odd for me to be seen with you, especially since you reek of horse dung and sweat." He pointed at the hem of Eryn's skirt. "Tear of a strip of cloth, and wrap it around his eyes. Ah, and lose the belly."

Eryn smiled and complied. The vintner may have been a selfish ass, but he was a clever selfish ass. She dropped the bundle of leaves from under her skirt, then bent down and tore off a long piece from the hem. She took the cloth and held it out. Silas kneeled down so she could reach around his head and tie a knot in the back.

"Can you see?" she asked.

"Not at all, but I trust you to lead me."
 

"You are a beggar, Eryn. Make eye contact with no one. Ask the rich passerby for coin. If you see the guards coming for you, do whatever you must to duck away from the crowds. You may need to fight." He looked up and down the street again. "The Heart is directly to the west of the palace walls. It's a district of the people. You will find no shortage of wine, women, thieves, or brigands there. You will also find no love for the Empire."

"Right next to the palace?" Eryn asked. She couldn't believe such a place would sit so close to the seat of the city.

"There is a saying, Eryn. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. You will be safer in the Heart, but you will hardly be safe. The Overlord has spies throughout, but if you know the right people, there are ways around them. This street will lead you to the palace gates. Three blocks before that is Amster Road. You will go west on that road until you reach Cindal Road, which is when you will turn back to the south. Cindal road leads through the heart of the Heart. The first inn there is called Waverly's. Go in through the kitchen entrance in the rear. I'll be waiting for you there."