Mage's Blood (68 page)

He cursed under his breath and looked up into a freckled face framed by braided blonde hair. He groaned internally: his almost-fiancée Gina Weber. ‘Uh, hello Gina,’ he responded as he sought an excuse to move on.

Gina was wearing a grey dress and a modest headscarf covered the braids which showed she was still unmarried, but there was an engagement ring on her left hand. She was smiling like he was an old friend. ‘It is you – I thought it was! What have you been up to?’

‘Oh, looking after Ma, mostly. Dad’s gone east on business. Not much, you know.’

Some of the desolation of his reply must have triggered her memory, for she suddenly coloured and apologised. ‘I’m so sorry about the graduation thing. It seemed very unfair.’

‘Tell the governor that,’ Alaron snapped, regretting it when she flinched. ‘Sorry, Gina, it’s not your fault. Anyway, we’re still trying to petition the governor – better get on, eh?’ He tried to walk away, but she came with him.

‘I hope your petition is successful, I really do. I thought you were – well, you know, a decent person.’

He swallowed, suddenly a little choked up. It had never occurred to him to worry about what she thought of him. ‘Yeah, well, thanks for that, Gina. No hard feelings. You seemed like a decent person too.’ He met her eyes, possibly for the first time ever. ‘Good luck with your marriage to that Brician fellow.’

Her face clouded. ‘We won’t actually marry until he gets back from the Crusade,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, I hope he makes it. What was his name again?’

‘Blayne de Noellen. His father has a big estate and lots of horses near Fellanton. He’s from an old half-blood line, like our family. Father was quite pleased—’

‘Good, good—Excuse me, Gina, but I have to go.’ He fought an unexpected sense of regret – not that he had really wanted to marry her, but that future had been safe, normal. Now here he was, contemplating a crime that could get him executed. ‘Goodbye, Gina.’

‘Watch out at the governor’s office,’ she said suddenly. ‘There’s a young mage there who’s an absolute creep. He’s their security man now that the legions have marched. He keeps propositioning me, the slime.’

‘Any useful battle-magi has gone east, so I’m told,’ Alaron remarked. ‘Just the arseholes and losers left, huh?’ he couldn’t help adding morosely.

‘I don’t think you’re either of those things, Alaron,’ Gina told him. ‘Good luck – let me know how it goes. I’m around here a lot. Unmarried mage-women like me who aren’t good at fighting or healing do most of the communication tasks. I’m working as personal secretary to the watch captain.’

‘Jeris Muhren?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘He’s wonderful. If you’d like to meet him one
day I could arrange it – he already knows about you. I’ve heard him dictating letters to the governor on your behalf.’

Alaron felt a flicker of surprise: so Muhren hadn’t been lying when he claimed to be trying to help him. ‘I’ve met him already. Look, thanks, Gina, but I’ve got to go. I might see you around.’

She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Good luck, Alaron.’

He set off, then turned back. ‘Do you know Malevorn Andevarion?’ he asked her, trying to sound indifferent. Her resultant blush told him all he needed to know. He stomped away.

He climbed the stairs to the west wing, passing assorted guards and statuary. Inside was a cavernous foyer, filled with more statues, including a huge one of Vult, and ceiling murals of the Alps. A bored-looking man sat at a large desk confronting rows of men and women of all ages. The room had an oppressive air of stillness, as if the supplicants had been there so long that invisible spiders had woven unseen webs about them.

Alaron sat as if he were another petitioner and began to take mental note of what he could see of the lay-out.

‘Alaron Mercer,’ purred a voice behind his shoulder that made him shudder.

Alaron stood warily, confronting Gron Koll. The last time he had seen Koll’s sallow face, Muhren had just pounded it into a pillar. Sadly, Koll had healed, but the cure for acne still eluded him. He was wearing the red and blue uniform of the governor’s staff. ‘Koll. I’d heard only the dregs were still in town. I guess seeing you here proves it.’

Gron Koll allowed a faint sneer to curl his lips, as though baiting by inferiors were beneath his contempt now. ‘The best men get the best positions, Mercer. Only the knuckleheads went east. The clever ones don’t need to go grubbing around deserts to make their fortunes. I’m Personal Aide to Acting-Governor Besko. He’s got his eye on you. And so have I, you and your little group of foreign scum that hang around your father’s house day and night. Does your gypsy slut give good sport?’

Alaron fought the urge to hit the smirking youth whilst quelling
alarm at the news that their house was being watched. ‘You and Besko are a lovely couple. Let me know when you decide to make it official.’ He turned his back to go.

Unseen fists gripped his throat, squeezing the air from his windpipe whilst lifting him kicking and choking into the air. He was peripherally aware of shocked supplicants staring as he fought to breathe through Koll’s gnosis-choke. He was horribly afraid that Koll would probe his mind, but instead Koll just giggled as he spun Alaron slowly in the air. His vision started turning ragged, coming in and out of focus, and he felt himself beginning to black out when he was dumped on the floor, cracking his skull as he fell. He gasped for air like a beached fish as heavy hands picked him up and he was half-dragged, half-carried out the door and down the steps. The two watchmen left him sprawled on the ground in front of a small group of onlookers. He lay there, trying to inhale through tortured throat muscles.

Koll’s voice slithered into his mind from the top of the stairs.

‘Alaron?’ Gina Weber bent over him and soothing, balm-like gnosis suffused his throat muscles until blessed air flowed in without pain once more. He coughed and retched.

‘Gina, darling, don’t waste your time on that failure. Tomorrow night after work, perhaps?’ Gron Koll called, his voice oily and mocking. ‘Wear that lovely green dress.’

Gina ignored him as she helped Alaron to his feet. ‘You know him? Oh, that’s right – he was one of Mal’s friends. What a creep,’ she murmured. ‘Come on, I’ll help you home.’

It’s ‘Mal’ still, is it?
Alaron let her steady him until his legs regained their full strength and he was able to stand under his own steam. ‘Thanks Gina,’ he croaked. ‘I can make it from here.’

She looked at him with a pitying face. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

He shook his head, feeling nothing but helpless rage at Koll, Gavius, Muhren and everyone else who had ruined his future.
When we’ve solved this Langstrit mystery, I’m going to leave here and never look back
. He glared at her, then remembered his manners and softened
his look. ‘Sorry. Thanks again, Gina.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said quietly, looking at him oddly, almost as if he were a child. ‘Well, then. Nice to see you,’ she said, slightly awkwardly, and backed away.

She actually
wanted
to marry me, it dawned on him. It wasn’t a peripheral thing, not to her.
What on Urte did she see in me?
‘See you around then,’ he muttered and fled.

They set the evening of Torsdai, 22 Maicin as the night for their raid on the Governor’s Residence. Ramon reacted with vindictive delight at the thought that Gron Koll would be guarding the building. ‘We knew some mage or other would be there – good to know it’s that bastard.’

Alaron frowned. ‘I’m not so sure. Koll is no pushover.’

‘It’s ideal! For one, he’s a known quantity. We know what he’s good at – Illusion, obviously, and Air-gnosis – so we know how to beat him. Two, I’ve been wanting the chance to beat the shit out of him for seven years.’

‘He’s not easy,’ Alaron warned. ‘We’ve both duelled him at college. He’s tough to beat.’

‘It won’t be a square fight,’ Ramon said. ‘We can’t afford the time and noise. He has to go down with one hit.’

‘No killing,’ Cym warned them. ‘It doesn’t matter how much you hate him, we can’t afford that.’

The boys muttered their reluctant agreement.

‘Good,’ she pronounced, ‘because I’ve thought of the best way to do this …’

So it was that Alaron found himself wearing a large green dress and a pale blue half-cloak, and thus cowled, with Ramon on his arm, he tried to walk like a woman through the twilight streets. ‘This is the worst plan ever,’ he muttered sourly.

‘Hush, gorgeous,’ Ramon hissed.

‘Arsehole! You should be the one in the dress. You might even like it.’

Ramon stifled laughter. ‘You look lovely, Alaron. Good enough to kiss.’

Alaron scowled. ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Shhh! And don’t pull faces, you’ll spoil the effect.’

Gina was a moderately tall girl, bigger than Cym or Ramon, and only a fraction smaller than Alaron. Her hair was a problem, but Cym had somehow came up with a blonde wig. After that, it didn’t really take much work at all to make the transformation, especially with some judicious use of normal disguising techniques: a little padding here, a little make-up there. They even pierced his ears so he could wear earrings. He felt mortified, a complete fool, and his ears stung, but Cym was right: it did have to be him.

‘One moment you’re telling me to toughen up, next moment you’re putting me in a frock,’ he complained.

Ramon chuckled. ‘Part of being tough is taking a hit for your friends, Al. Doesn’t have to be a physical blow – being tough enough to put on a dress is part of being in a team.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely.’ Then Ramon spoiled the pep talk by bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

The sun was gone and the waning moon hung in the eastern sky. There weren’t many abroad in the streets, and the Watchmen weren’t about to harass a girl on the arm of a battle-mage, so they were left alone as they headed for the private entrance to the Governor’s Palace. It hadn’t taken much research to find out that the governor’s new aide was using the guest rooms of the Residence; Koll was ill-liked among the staff, to no one’s surprise.

Ramon left Alaron at the corner of the square and went to join the others in a nearby alley. Alaron crossed the plaza, his head bowed, trying to walk like a woman and praying he didn’t meet anyone.

He wasn’t that lucky.

‘Hello, young Gina,’ came a rough warm voice, and Alaron stole a glance, pursing his lips. Damn! Some young bureaucrat, he couldn’t think of the name. He hoped Gina wasn’t too friendly towards him normally.

‘Hello.’ He used Shaping to soften his tones and Mesmerism to encourage the other to find him as expected, just as he’d practised for the last two days. It must have worked, because the young man appeared to be taken in.

‘Visiting someone?’ he asked curiously.

‘Just a friend,’ Alaron said softly, flicking his head at the Residence.

The young official screwed his face up. ‘Gron Koll?’ he said disgustedly. ‘Well, there’s no accounting for taste, but I’d have thought better of an
engaged
woman like you.’ He tipped his cap tersely and marched away.

Sorry about your reputation, Gina
. Once he was sure the young man was out of sight he hurried on: the third night-bell had already sounded. He would only get one chance if Koll was there. Failure would be fatal. He came to the servants’ door and knocked, his hand trembling.

He had to wait for a several seconds before a middle-aged woman’s voice called, ‘Who’s there?’

Alaron summoned all his courage and spoke in Gina’s voice. ‘I’m here to visit Master Koll.’

He heard a disgusted sigh, then, ‘What name shall I give?’

When he said ‘Gina,’ he heard a small curse.

The viewing slot opened. ‘Let’s look at you.’

He met the servant’s eyes through the slot and reaching out with the gnosis.
You see Gina Weber, no doubt about it. Let me in
.

Mesmerism wasn’t one of his best affinities, but the maid was busy and not expecting anyone else. ‘Very well,’ she grunted tiredly. She worked the locks open and let him in. Light shone from the kitchen and cooking smells filled the hall. The woman looked about forty, with flour on her hands. ‘I’d have thought better of you, lass,’ she said resignedly. ‘Come on. I’ll show you to the parlour.’

She led him down a hall; outside, Ramon and Cym should be leading Langstrit across the square, ready to follow him through, if he was able to see off the guard and Koll.

The cook called to one of the guards who were casting dice in the
foyer. ‘Kurt, take Miss Weber to the parlour … Charles, go and fetch Slimetongue.’ She sounded disgruntled.

To know you is clearly not to love you, Gron Koll
, Alaron thought.
Slimetongue – ha!

The guard, Kurt, led him to a small armless chair in a tiny round room overlooking the square. He reeked of rusty mail and sweat. He peered at Alaron curiously.

Guards of magi houses were often taught shielding techniques, so Alaron put extra effort into his mesmerism.
You see an attractive woman, but she is not for you. Leave
.

There was little resistance. Kurt sniffed and turned away. ‘What do you want to see Koll for?’

‘None of your business, guardsman – but I’ll be sure to mention that you asked.’

Kurt flinched. ‘Uh, sorry, miss. Didn’t mean nothing by it.’ He hurried away.

Alaron, finally alone, looked around curiously. The ill-lit room was cluttered with books and tables and desks and the smell of lamp-oil. He heard footsteps and tugged his hood into place.

‘Gina,’ purred Gron Koll as he entered the room. ‘What a pleasant surprise! I hoped you would see sense after all.’ He stopped beside a decanter and splashed brandy into a glass. ‘No sense in pining for your fiancé for two years, is there?’

Alaron watched out of the corner of his eye.
Come closer, Gron you prick
.

Koll ambled towards him. ‘You know, Gina, I really was a little disappointed at your concern for that cretin Mercer, the other day. He got what he deserved. He’s beneath the likes of you and me.’