Magebane (30 page)

And you always knew she was doomed
, a cold voice deep inside him pointed out.

But that was different. It was one thing to sacrifice her for the greater good, to ensure the Barriers could come down and the drain on the magic lode be reduced before magic failed entirely. Regrettable, but absolutely necessary. But to eliminate her just so Falk and he could avoid discovery . . .

It was monstrous.

He saw Sintha's concerned look, and smiled at her weakly. “I hope he's found unharmed,” he said. “I've grown very fond of the boy.”

“I hope so, too,” Sintha said. “He's been very pleasant to me.”

“Lord Falk has not requested my help in the search?” he said.

Sintha shook her head. “No, First Mage.”

Tagaza nodded. “Very well. I'll be in my office.” He hurried through the inner oak door. His office was white: white carpet, white walls, white ceiling, white desk, all trimmed with gold. Just as in his quarters in the east wing, the windows were thrown open, letting in air and light. He went over to the window and peered out across the lake. He could see guards even then combing the lakeshore, guards in boats, guards on the bridge.

He gazed down at the ornamental gardens, down toward the boathouse, and even from that distance recognized the slim gray figure of Falk, talking to someone.
He'll want to see me now
, Tagaza thought. He turned away from the window, went to the desk, and sat down; then, after a moment, got up again and went to the sideboard beneath the giant portrait of King Kravon, looking far more regal than he'd ever looked in real life, opened a decanter of asproga, and poured himself a glass of the fiery anise-flavored liqueur, which he'd introduced the Prince to some years ago. His hand shook slightly as he took it back to his desk. For a moment he just sat there, staring across its white marble top at the two empty chairs on the other side; then, with a sigh, he folded his mind into a simple spell he'd crafted many years before and said into empty air, “Sintha, I might as well get started on those inspectors' reports. Please bring them in.”

“Yes, First Mage.” He heard her voice clearly in his mind as she responded to the magical call. A few minutes later she entered with a stack of papers. “Here you are.”

“Any more news on the Prince?” he asked, as casually as he could, reaching for the top sheet.

“No, First Mage.”

“Let me know if you hear anything.”

“I will.”

He gave her a dismissive smile, and she curtsied a little, then went back into the outer office, closing the door behind her. Tagaza started reading the paper on the desk.
Magelight Inspection Report, Royal Palace, Royal Quarters. Greetings, First Mage Tagaza. As noted in my last report, we continue to suffer mysterious failures of the enchanted lightstones near the Prince's quarters. It could be due to some natural interfering material in the stonework. I propose . . .

Tagaza read on, making notes. He found it hard to concentrate at first, but gradually the rhythm of the neverending paperwork reasserted itself and he became engrossed in the work. The day passed swiftly. He ate lunch at his desk, Sintha bringing in a plate of cold meat, cheese, and bread, and a bottle of Old Evrenfels Amber, Commoner-brewed but the best beer in the Kingdom for all that. By midafternoon, he had reached the bottom of the pile; but as he reached for the last report, the door to his office crashed open. In strode Falk . . . and two grim-faced guards. Beyond them, in the outer office, he could see Sintha, craning her neck to see what was happening.

Tagaza froze for an instant, hand on the last report; then he forced himself to pick it up as though completely unconcerned by the First Minister's unannounced arrival. “Lord Falk,” he said. He laid the report on the desk in front of him, then picked up his pen, enchanted so that it magically transported ink from a reservoir in his desk as needed and thus never ran out. It was wrapped in an insulating leather sheath so it didn't freeze his fingers as he used it. “Have you found the Prince yet? Is there anything I can do to assist?”

Falk glared at him, mouth a thin line. “First Mage Tagaza,” he said, voice colder than the wind outside the Barrier, “In the name of His Majesty King Kravon, I arrest you for the crime of High Treason.”

Tagaza's fingers were warm on the pen, but the rest of him froze at those words. He couldn't seem to process what the Minister of Public Safety had just said.

Falk turned to the guards. “Take him,” he said.

The guards stepped forward, eyes cold and bright beneath the silver shine of their helms. Tagaza put down the pen and got to his feet. Shock had given way to fear . . . and anger. “You have no authority—”

“I am Minister of Public Safety,” Falk snapped. “My duty is to protect the King and Heir. Someone tried to kill the Heir. Now he's missing. And I have reason to believe you are involved.”

Tagaza's eyes widened. “What? What did Mother—”

Suddenly, he couldn't speak at all. He tried, once, twice, but his throat seemed numb and his lips and tongue wouldn't move. He recognized the spell; he had taught it to Falk. He stopped struggling against it and glared at Falk. Falk ignored him, turning to the guards. “Take him,” he said, and swept out.

Tagaza heard the sharp click of enchanted manacles locking onto his wrists, and felt their anti-magic field wrapping around him, heavy and cold as a wet woolen blanket. He had no choice but to go with the guards.

This will all be straightened out
, he told himself. He even managed a reassuring smile to Sintha as the guards led him past her desk, though he was feeling far from reassured himself.
Falk has made a mistake. That's all. He needs me, and after a little reflection, he'll realize it.

But he still couldn't suppress a thrill of fear as the guards took him down the stairs toward Falk's dungeon, into which so many men, Mageborn and Commoner alike, had disappeared forever.

Let him stew for a few hours
, Falk thought as he stalked away from Tagaza's office,
and then we will find out how he did it
.

That he
had
done it, Falk no longer had much doubt. Who else but Tagaza, who with Falk had delved more deeply into the secrets of both Lesser and Greater Barriers than anyone else alive, could have the knowledge or skill to open a hole in the Lesser Barrier and spirit the Prince out through it?

He went through the magical door into his offices with none of his usual banter with the guards, though the sign and countersign (“Snapdragon.” “Honeysuckle.”) were no less silly, and strode up to Brich's deck. Brich took one look at him and jumped to his feet. “Yes, my lord?”

“We have been too quick to forgive the Commoners,” Falk said, every word clipped and weighted. “Prince Karl is somewhere in New Cabora. See to it that we find him . . . by any means necessary. I don't care if you have to tear the city apart stone by stone.” He paused as a thought struck him, then smiled, or at least showed his teeth. “In fact, I think that is
exactly
how we should begin. Starting with their precious City Hall. Let us remind them of the power MageLords can call on if need be.”

Brich paled, but he did not argue. “It will be done, Lord Falk.”

“Yes,” Falk snarled. “It will.”

Mother Northwind received word of Prince Karl's disappearance some time earlier than Lord Falk; in the middle of the night, in fact, when a glowing ball appeared in the air above her bed and made a squawking sound rather like a chicken having its neck wrung—Mother Northwind's own choice, since it was such a horrible noise it could hardly fail to wake her up.

Nor did it this time. She closed her eyes again momentarily and used magic to sweep the sleep from her brain, then, as alert as if she had had a good night's sleep and a morning dip in a cold pool, said, “I am here. Who speaks?”

A magelink
could
carry an image, but she had chosen to make this one transmit only sound. Not only that, but the voice the person at the other end heard coming from it would not be the quavering tones of an elderly woman, but the sonorous voice of a middle-aged, powerful man. It was a sorry reality that men and women alike were more likely to respond to a man's orders than those of a woman . . .

. . . something else Mother Northwind hoped would change in the New World that would follow the destruction of the Great Barrier. Some of what she had seen in Anton's mind had hinted that, though far from perfect, things were somewhat more equal for men and women Outside—but for now she had to deal with the world as it was, not as she hoped to make it. And so she talked to those within the Common Cause whose help she needed with the voice of a man . . . and the title of “Patron.”

She smiled a little, thinking of how long Falk had sought that elusive individual, when in fact the Patron lived in a cottage he had had built within his very own demesne.

“Cell Leader Vinthor, Patron,” the voice said. His cell had been tasked with placing certain objects in the Palace grounds in preparation for the final act of her plan to destroy the Barrier. She tensed. Had something gone wrong?

“Yes, Vinthor,” she said. “Was there a problem with your mission?” Already she was thinking ahead. If those devices had not been placed, she would have to activate a backup plan. A riskier one, but if necessary—

“No, Patron. The devices were placed successfully.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Mother Northwind said with relief. “Then why do you contact me?”

“There were complications after the completion of the mission,” Vinthor said. A long pause followed. Mother Northwind declined to fill it. “Patron,” Vinthor said at last, “we seem to have inadvertently taken a prisoner.”

Mother Northwind frowned. “What kind of prisoner?”

Another pause. “Patron, it is the Heir. Prince Karl.”

Mother Northwind had been holding up her end of the conversation while remaining comfortably prone beneath her down comforter. Now, though, she shot upright. “The
Prince
? How?
Why?
”

“As I said, Patron, it was inadvertent.”

“Forgive me if I find it difficult to imagine how one inadvertently captures a prince, Cell Leader Vinthor,” Mother Northwind said, her tone biting.

“I know it is hard to believe, Patron,” Vinthor said. “But inadvertent it was, nonetheless. Prince Karl seems to have spotted our men in the garden—how, I do not know—and somehow sneaked out of his quarters and followed them across the lake. He saw them leave through the Lesser Barrier. He followed.”

“Through the opening they had made?” Mother Northwind said, though she suspected she knew the answer.

“No,” Vinthor said. “He tried, he said, but it closed too quickly. He just . . . passed through the Barrier. As though it weren't there.”

Magebane
, Mother Northwind thought. As if there were still any doubt after the assassination attempt . . .

She waited a moment before speaking, thinking. The Prince's disappearance would certainly put a kink in Falk's Plan, though it might or might not be a fatal one, depending on how cleverly he managed it. But as for her
own
Plan . . .

It made no difference, she decided. In fact, if anything, things would be easier to manage with the Prince in her hands.

I'd have ordered him kidnapped myself if I'd thought we could get away with it,
she thought wryly.

“Very well,” she said at last. “An interesting development. Vinthor, you must get the Prince out of the city tonight, before he is missed from the Palace. Lord Falk will tear New Cabora apart to find him. Use the safe house in Mouse Valley. You must get him there before daybreak. Can you do that?”