Mage's Blood (56 page)

Even if it wasn’t true, it might provide the story he needed: a plausible and acceptable reason for failure. It was so frustrating, to be reduced to this, but he needed
damned
good excuses because he was running out of friends. Belonius Vult had joined Tomas Betillon and Kaltus Korion in condemning this latest setback, so he probably couldn’t count on Vult’s backing any more. So the question was: had he run out of second chances? Was it time to cut and run?

He rejected that thought instantly. He still had Coin, the most talented shapeshifter he had ever come across, and he still had Mara Secordin, and his other mage-agents were even now riding the winds towards Javon. Elena couldn’t hide, not with a queen to protect. She’d be on the defensive now, and that was fatal in this type of war. He was Gurvon Gyle, the Grey Fox. He had never lost aduel between spies before, and he never would.

Another questing mind touched his, one he dare not block. His mouth went dry. <
Mater-Imperia
> he greeted her respectfully.

The touch of Lucia’s mind was viscerally cold as it echoed through the relay-staves. <
Magus Gyle. My son and the Grand Prelate have just burst into my chambers in an unseemly panic. They tell me Alfredo Gorgio has fled Brochena, that all of your magi are dead and that no one can contact you
.
They are demanding your recall to explain yourself to the Chief Inquisitor. What have you to say?
>

He swallowed and tried to keep his mind’s voice calm and reasonable. <
Majesty, the news is correct: whilst I was in Bres meeting with your council, Elena Anborn led an attack augmented by Ordo Costruo magi, and slew my agents in Brochena. The Gorgio lost their nerve and fled the city. Cera Nesti now holds the palace
.>

<
You have proof of this Builder involvement?
>

A lie, or the truth? An easy choice
. <
Yes, milady. Elena was able to attack all of my magi simultaneously and overcome them. I have certain knowledge
that rogue Ordo Costruo were involved
.> He plucked a plausible name from memory. <
They were sent by Emir Rashid of Halli’kut
.>

<
Certain knowledge?
>

<
There is no doubt, Mater-Imperia
.> If you’re going to lie, do it with conviction.

<
How did she know you were in Bres, Magus Gyle? I understood you had taken some pains to ensure that she would not be aware of your absence
.>

Emperor Constant was nothing compared to Lucia. Gyle knew whose protection he would rather enjoy. <
Whilst in Bres, I was persuaded by the emperor, Wurther, Betillon and Korion to contact Elena, to try and buy her off. Use of relay-staves is distinctive. Realising that I was contacting her from afar, she obviously decided to attack in my absence
.>

Gyle sensed anger on the part of the Empress-Mother, but when she responded her mental voice was still calm. <
I will speak with my son
.> She paused for a few seconds, clearly struggling with her temper. <
I am beginning to feel some admiration for the audacity of this Anborn woman. Her initial treachery was merely capricious. This latest act shows verve and cunning. Magus Gyle, we have a difficult situation now: the Crusades begin in two months, and we have lost our grip on Javon. We do not have time to bring anyone else in. We are dependent on you delivering what you have promised. Needless to say, your life depends upon it too
.>

<
I fully understand that, Mater-Imperia
.>

<
Lord Betillon is demanding I send the Dorobon legion via windship ahead of schedule to Hytel and commence war
.>

<
With respect, he is wrong, Imperia-Mater. The Gorgio are broken. The Jhafi harassed them all the way north. Even if General Korion could spare the windships, the Dorabon arriving would precipitate the Shihad too soon. Please give me time
.>

<
So what is your new plan? What other resource do you have, and how will you proceed? If the Anborn woman has Ordo Costruo help, we must support you
.>

<
Mater-Imperia, the Javon situation is now very delicate. The Nesti have aligned with the Jhafi, and the death of Cera Nesti could throw the entire country into the hands of the shihad. We cannot let Cera forge an alliance with the sultan, so I plan to replace her. As you know, Coin is already in
place within the Nesti circle
.> He paused, allowing the emperor’s mother to comment, but she said nothing, to his relief. Coin was a touchy subject with her. And the shapeshifter was not yet where he needed her to be. <
Mater-Imperia, Coin is the only living shapeshifter capable not only of becoming either gender, but of completely hiding all gnosis traces. She will replace the real Cera and move the Nesti away from the shihad. Civil war will ensue, and the surviving Rimoni will have no choice but to turn to the Dorobon legions to preserve them
.>

He took a mental breath and went on, <
I have other agents gathering to infiltrate the Nesti and place Coin, as Cera, on the throne. I will be operating inside Brochena myself. You could best aid me by keeping Betillon and Korion off my back. I will deliver you Javon, I swear
.>

The Mater-Imperia was silent for some time, considering. <
Magister Gyle, I have said that I will back your plans and so I shall
> she said finally. <
I remain greatly angered, but if you can eliminate Anborn and replace Cera Nesti, I will consider our contract still valid. If you fail, however, there is nowhere you will be able to hide from me
.>

<
I understand, Majesty. I will not fail
.>

<
Good. Betillon has burnt out most of his communication-rods ranting about your failures, so we will barely be able to communicate with you again until the Crusade has begun and we are re-established on Dhassan soil. We will await your notification of success eagerly
.>

He sent his gratitude wordlessly.

<
Also, Magister Gyle, I have this demand: take the woman Elena Anborn alive and send her to me. She will regret her treachery
.> Mater-Imperia’s mental voice would have corroded steel.

<
As you command, Mater-Imperia
.>

<
There is one last thing: I must bow somewhat to the wishes of my son. He is anxious. He is sending a man of his own. You will have heard of Inquisition Grandmaster Fraxis Targon?
>

Damn. .>

<
He will be with you in a few weeks. Fail, and the Church’s Executioner will ensure you do not slip away. My son thinks you should die immediately. I am protecting you, Magister. Do not let me down
.>

<
My eternal gratitude is yours, Mater-Imperia
.>

The contact was broken and he was left to stare out at the darkening sky and contemplate the arrival of the Church’s most feared Ascendant Inquisitor. He exhaled, noticing the faint quiver in his left hand and realising that he had not lost the capacity to feel fear.

Who was the real Corinea? Selene, the murderess who slew Corineus? A whorish harpy who benighted Corineus’ flock, ensuring that so many of the Thousand were found unworthy of Ascension? Or is she just the excuse the Kore uses to oppress women everywhere?

S
ARA DE
B
OINEUX
, G
RADUATION
T
HESIS
, B
RES
A
RCANUM
878

Brochena, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia
Martrois and Aprafor 928
4-3 months until the Moontide

Elena’s Necromancy-wracked body was in turmoil. She failed to bleed at the start of Martrois, and for the first time in years did not accompany Cera to the blood-tower in the week of the new moon. Instead she went into her own tower and exercised to the point of exhaustion.
Bastido
could now defeat her on even the most basic setting, so she added bruises and welts from the fighting machine to her catalogue of pain – on top of the all-consuming task of re-establishing security inside the palace. Everyone, guard or servant, had to be mentally scanned prior to hire – though it was probably a waste of
energy, for it would not uncover anyone trained in thought-concealment. Those permitted access to Cera and Timori were cut to the bare minimum, and the family areas of the palace were segregated from the rest of the building. Fear of failure and desperation to regain her former athleticism drove her on. Every night as she collapsed into bed Tarita and Borsa nagged her to get more rest. She ignored them.

She had not thought herself vain, but she was more than upset at her inability to regain her youthful looks and lithe body. Her hair was slowly regrowing, a blonde-silver hue that was not too unflattering, but she had black circles beneath her eyes. Her joints creaked painfully; her tendons burned at every movement. She had no energy to spare for rebuilding herself: Gurvon Gyle was out there and she could not afford to relax.

The re-establishment of the Nesti proceeded apace. Cera had summoned her nobles to council, but before that there were hundreds of crises to deal with. The treasury, stables and granaries had been ransacked, and the Gorgio had been weakened, not destroyed: should the Nesti pursue when they themselves had been so denuded of men by Gurvon’s initial strike?

Brochena buzzed like a hive, filled with frenetic energy. The Jhafi returned cautiously to the palace, first seeking news of missing relatives, and then seeking work. Cera herself attended the mass funeral for the murdered on the first Sabbadai of Martrois. She was visibly moved by the occasion, and Emir Tamadhi left her in no doubt about the feelings of the people: shihad was demanded, against both the Gorgio and the Rondians. Cera understood; she gave repeated assurances on both counts.

There was a lot of goodwill flowing from the liberation of the city, but one issue was still tearing Cera in two: what to do with Solinde. The people, especial the Jhafi, wanted her put on trial, for Solinde had fraternised with the Gorgio and publicly proclaimed her love for Fernando Tolidi. To protect her sister would be wrong; to not protect her would be weak and a betrayal of family.

It did not help that Solinde remained antagonistically unrepentant. The Jhafi claimed she had egged on the Gorgio, and she denied
nothing, until at last Cera had no choice but to condemn her own sister to the dungeons in Krak di Conditiori, far to the south, where political prisoners were housed, guarded by Javonesi knights and Ordo Costruo magi under an ancient treaty with Antonin Meiros’ magi. It was a delaying tactic and it pleased no one.

Mystery still shrouded the death of Fernando Tolidi. Elena could not work out how he had died, or why his body had not been taken north. There were no witnesses, and Solinde denied any knowledge. She showed no sorrow at all, which Elena found disturbing.

Before Solinde was sent south, Elena went to her cell. The princessa sat alone, staring into space, moving only to eat or to use the privy. She looked and acted traumatised, yet when she spoke, she was viciously sarcastic, and simmered with more hostility than fear, even alone with a mage. Elena contemplated her in puzzlement, unable to understand where the vivacious Solinde they all had loved had gone. Had Sordell done something to her, or was this a reaction to Fernando’s death? It would take weeks of patient work to probe her mind and heal her of her terrors, but she would have one last try.

‘Solinde, what did they do to you?’ she whispered.

Slowly the princessa turned her head. Her eyes were flat, empty. ‘What do you want, you old hag?’

Elena winced. ‘I hoped to find some way we could restore you to the girl you were.’

Solinde lifted her chin and laughed bitterly. ‘Why would I want to go back to being that gormless empty-headed bint and let Cera have everything? Don’t think I haven’t seen this, you and Cera, safian bitches plotting together. You disgust me.’

She had to stop herself slapping the girl – but someone, or some
thing
, had got to her.
Gurvon, what have you done?
She almost went back to Cera to ask for permission to attempt some kind of mind-healing, but she was exhausted.
Maybe I can do something in a few months
. ‘This won’t be pleasant, Solinde,’ she said calmly, ‘but I have to place a binding upon you to prevent any mage from contacting you. If you are still linked to Gurvon, I must sever that link.’ She reached out a hand.

Quick as a cat, Solinde leapt backwards, pressing herself against the walls of the cell as she cried, ‘Don’t touch me, witch, there is nothing wrong with me – keep away!’

Elena sighed and pinned the girl against the wall with Air-gnosis, feeling queasily like a torturer. ‘This is a Chain-rune,’ she told Solinde. ‘It will hurt.’ She placed a hand on the girl’s brow, gnostic light flared and Solinde shrieked and writhed in pain for twenty long seconds before going limp. Elena checked her pulse, then lowered her to the bed. She hated doing this, but the Chain-rune, normally used to turn off a captive mage’s abilities so they had no access to the gnosis, also cut off the mind from any gnosis-contact. If a mage was communicating with Solinde, the Chain-rune would break that link.
What she really needs is psychic healing, but she resists so violently. Damn this: why is there never enough time to do things properly?

Elena left the cell with deep misgivings and watched the prison-wagon depart half an hour later with a sense of missed opportunity – but there was no time to dwell on it. Cera was in open court, hearing grievances from the commoners, and she needed to be warded.