The Firemage's Vengeance (27 page)

“I would not dream of it,” said Kalem. But his grin said far more than words ever could.

thirty-two

THEY SLIPPED THROUGH THE LIBRARY’S front doors when Jia was not watching, and soon had passed through the garden to the place where they knew Mako’s secret entrance waited. At first the space between the hedges looked empty—but then Mako appeared, stepping out from a gap in the plants that looked far too narrow for his broad frame.

“Closer,” he said. “Ebon, give me your hand.”

Curious, Ebon did so—and then gave an indignant cry as Mako seized his sleeve and tore off several long strips of cloth.

“Cease your mewling,” growled Mako. “Now the two of you—turn around.”

One by one he used the strips of cloth to blindfold Theren and Kalem, and such was the urgency in his movements that even Theren did not complain. While Ebon turned away, Mako pushed some panel or lever, and they heard the soft sliding of stone upon grass and snow. The air within the passage was cool, cooler even than the wintry air outside. With one hand on each of his friend’s shoulders to guide them, Ebon made his way forwards through the dark, and before long Mako had them out on the streets.

“Into the sewers again,” said Mako. “But not west this time.”

He led them down a gutter and into the stinking passageways beneath the streets. But whether because of the chilled air or because Ebon was growing used to it, the stench was not as noisome as it had been before. Mako set a quick pace, and from the markings on the ceiling, Ebon knew they were heading mostly east.

“Where is Gregor going?” he said.

“He is trying to sail from the Seat and vanish into the nine kingdoms,” said Mako. “But the western docks are watched, for the grotto was near them, and so he thinks to have better luck on the other side of the island.”

“How did he overpower so many Mystics when they caught him before?” said Kalem.

Mako threw him a quick glance over his shoulder. “I did not wait around to watch the fight. But you saw his size.”

“And how easily he slapped you about,” said Theren offhandedly.

The bodyguard said nothing, but Ebon saw his fingers twitch, as though they itched to draw his dagger.

They went on in silence for a long while, until Ebon was certain they must have traveled much, much farther than last time. After a time, Mako stopped at the intersection of two tunnels and pressed himself to one of the corners.

“We must proceed cautiously from here,” he said. “We might encounter Yerrin guards accompanying Gregor to his boat. But, too, we might find more Mystics, for they have been alerted to Gregor’s movements, and are coming for him.”

“Mystics?” said Kalem. “Then why do we not let them catch the villain, and leave ourselves out of it?”

“Because if they catch him, they are not going to ask after Isra,” said Mako. “They believe that Isra is dead, for they have seen her corpse. That is why we must find him first.”

“You have thrown us into the middle of a fight between Yerrin and the Mystics?” said Ebon. He straightened and folded his arms. “What happened to the man who goes on and on about keeping me out of harm’s way? This hardly seems a safe course.”

“There are no safe courses left, you goldshitting little idiot,” said Mako. “I can let you sit in comfort in the Academy, or you can get your hands dirty and keep Isra from wreaking greater evil. And, in the end, keep her crimes from being blamed on you. What happened to the boy who always wanted to stick his nose in where it did not belong?”

Ebon glared, but had no answer.

“I thought so,” said Mako. “Come on, then. The sooner we find Gregor, the sooner this is all over with.”

But even Mako’s caution could not keep them from a fight in the end. He led them around one corner and then the next, but then they had to drop down into a lower level of the sewers. The way seemed clear at first—but the moment their feet touched down in the lower tunnel, they found green-glad warriors just a few paces away. The Yerrin soldiers stopped in their tracks, and then drew their swords with a ringing hiss of steel.

“Theren!” growled Mako, and then threw himself into the fray.

She hardly needed his urging; two of the guards flew into the air and slammed into the walls on either side. But without the amulet, Theren’s spells were not so strong as they might have been, and Ebon saw the guards struggling to their feet. Mako leapt upon one, and drove his daggers into the back of the woman’s neck. She slumped into the filth that covered the tunnel floor, her body going limp in an instant.

Ebon winced and forced his attention away. He was scanning the green cloaks and the open-faced helmets, searching for one who stood above all the rest. But he could see at once that Gregor was not here.

The guards pressed forwards now, and their shock at the sudden appearance of Ebon’s group faded with each passing moment. Theren struck and pushed at them each in turn, forcing those in the front back into the others, while Mako danced and slashed and stabbed with his knives. Beside Ebon, Kalem’s eyes glowed, and he reached into the stone wall of the sewer, pulling forth small handfuls of stone, which he then turned to iron and flung at the soldiers’ heads. But the boy’s arms were weak, and his aim was poor, so that was little help.

“Here, give them to me,” said Ebon. Kalem gratefully handed one off. Ebon threw it at a guard’s head as hard as he could. It clattered off the man’s brow, making him stumble, and then Theren’s magic lifted him from his feet and cast him back into his comrades. But looking over their heads, Ebon saw still more guards appear around the next bend in the sewer.

“Mako!” he cried. When the bodyguard shot him a look, Ebon pointed. Mako saw the approaching guards, and his mouth set in a grim line.

“Boy,” he said, glancing at Kalem. “We must away. Use the floor.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” said Kalem, close to panic.

“The
stone,
you idiot,” snarled Mako.

Recognition flashed in Kalem’s eyes, and he knelt. Magelight sprang into his eyes, and he pressed his fingers to the stone floor, ignoring the muck that enveloped his skin. An itch sprang to life on the back of Ebon’s neck. Stone rippled under Kalem’s fingers, and Ebon could almost see the magic spreading across the floor. It flowed forth like water, turning the stone to liquid, and in a blink it had spread beneath the feet of the Yerrin guards. Then Kalem lifted his hands, and the glow died in his eyes. The stone solidified again at once, and suddenly all the Yerrin guards were buried up to their ankles. They stared at their feet in fear and confusion, nearly falling over.

Mako took a step back, showing Kalem his cruel grin. “Well done, boy. Your head is not completely stuffed with wool, it seems. Come.”

He ran off down the tunnel, and the children hastened to follow. Ebon looked back only once, just before they turned the corner, and saw the Yerrin guards looking helplessly after them.

thirty-three

“THAT WAS A WASTE OF time,” said Theren. “Likely Gregor is already gone by now.”

“Let us hope not,” said Mako. “But if we do catch him, it will not have been a waste, for he will have fewer swords by his side.”

“Were those soldiers coming to reinforce Gregor, or clearing the way for his arrival?” said Ebon. “If they were behind him, he cannot still be there for us to find.”

“We will know in a moment,” said Mako. “Look ahead.”

Ebon did, and saw a pale glow far down the tunnel. The passageway ran straight to it without stopping, and with no tunnels branching off in either direction. The way was clear, and no one blocked them from it.

Mako broke into a sprint now, and Theren hastened to keep up. Ebon and Kalem were swiftly left behind, stumbling along on half-dead legs, their breath wheezing out in great gusts that misted upon the air. Mako and Theren burst out into the daylight, and the boys followed a moment later.

Everything was so bright that at first Ebon could only blink, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. When at last they adjusted, he searched for the Seat’s eastern docks. But the great docks were nowhere to be seen. Instead there were only a few small piles in a row, to which was lashed a small, floating dock.

Everything looked intimately familiar, like a place he had visited many times before, but he could not get his bearings. He looked around, seeing high cliffs rising far above them. The feet of the cliffs ended in the small stone platform where they now stood, stretching around the edge of the Great Bay’s water, which was only a few paces away. And across the little cove, steps were carved into the stone, leading up to the tops of the cliffs that stood stark and black against the bright sky above.

Cliffs.

The cliffs on the south of the Seat.

Ebon knew where they were. It was the cove—the cove to which he had followed Cyrus and Adara the day the Seat had been attacked, and where Cyrus had fallen to his death. His sense of familiarity came not from many visits in the flesh, but from the countless times he had visited the place since—in his nightmares.

His legs shook, and he clutched Kalem’s shoulder for support. The boy looked up at him, brow furrowing.

“Ebon? What is it?”

Mako heard it, and looked back at them over his shoulder. When he saw Ebon’s face, he showed his cruel grin. “What is wrong, boy? Is this place familiar to you?”

Though Ebon tried to summon an answer, none came—and then all their thought was drawn by Theren’s sudden cry. Ebon’s gaze followed her outthrust finger, which pointed towards the stone steps on the other side of the cove.

Down the steps came Gregor, moving with measured haste, and beside him were a half-dozen guards. As soon as Theren cried out, he turned and saw them. He wore no helmet now, and so Ebon could see full well how his face twisted to rage, fury smoldering in his eyes.

“There,” said Mako. “That is the firemage—the woman behind him.” But he need not have warned them, for she stepped forwards just then, and her eyes were aglow. A bolt of flame sprang from her fingers and came screaming towards them. But Theren’s own magelight flared in response; an itch sprang up on Ebon’s neck, and the flame died harmlessly upon the air. Theren thrust out a hand, and the firemage stumbled, but she quickly recovered.

“He means to take that boat,” said Mako, pulling Ebon’s attention back to Gregor and his guards. There was a small rowboat moored at the floating dock, and Gregor was making for it. “We cannot let him escape. Come!”

Around the stone shelf he ran, with Ebon and Kalem trying to keep up. But Ebon did not know what good they would be—Gregor had five other soldiers with him, and he and Kalem were no warriors, nor even wizards of a useful sort for this kind of thing, as Theren was.

But he had underestimated Theren—or he had overestimated Yerrin’s firemage. For even as Theren held off the other wizard’s spells, she could spare a blast or two of her own. When Gregor and his guards were still only halfway down the stone steps, an unseen forced clutched two of them and cast them over the edge. They fell screaming, not to the stone shelf, where they would surely have died, but into the water. They plunged beneath the surface and came up sputtering, fighting to reach the dock and desperate to remove the armor that suddenly weighed them down. But when Theren tried again, the firemage mustered a desperate defense and held her off.

“Your friend is worth more than she seems,” said Mako. “Now is the time to prove your own worth—but stay back, where you will not be harmed.”

“We are no great wizards, Mako,” said Ebon. “How can we help you against swords and armor?”

“Stand at my rear, and throw your little handfuls of stone,” said Mako. “Let Theren do her work, and do not let them get behind me.”

So saying, he approached the foot of the stairs, which Gregor had nearly reached. Two of the guards came forwards first. Like Gregor, they had no shields or armor save a shirt of chain. But they had swords at their waists, and they drew them in unison.

Mako slid his own curved daggers from their sheaths, and then with a flourish he flipped them around to hold them reversed. “Come, my darlings,” his tone almost playful. “Come and dance with me.”

They did, and for a moment that was all Mako did—he danced. The guards’ swords were long and broad, but that also made them heavy, and so Mako could twist and turn around every swing and thrust. Every few moments he would slash with one of his knives—but the slashes were slow and reserved, even to Ebon’s eye, meant only to make one of his opponents take a step back. If Gregor had joined the fray, it might have been different—but the stone shelf was narrow, and so he held his ground, but tried to edge around the fight so that he could approach the floating dock where his boat awaited.

Kalem bent and scooped handfuls of stone from the ground at their feet, and when he saw an opportunity, he flung them at the Yerrin guards. But Mako’s dance was as erratic as it was savage, and he could rarely find an opening. But then one of the guards’ boots slipped into a saltwater pool, and she slipped, and Mako struck at last. Swift as blinking he lunged, slashing the guard’s throat open. She fell to her knees, gurgling her last, and Ebon’s gut twisted. With one out of the way, Mako easily closed the gap between himself the other guard, stepping inside his reach and plunging both daggers into the man’s gut. To his credit, the second guard grimaced and tried to grasp Mako’s throat even in death, but the daggers came out, and they sank into the man’s temples. He fell heavily to the ground.

Mako stood looking at the bodies for a moment. Then he shoved his toe beneath the woman and turned her over, so that her corpse sank into the waters of the Great Bay. The man, too, he kicked into the water. Only then did he look up at Gregor.

“With that distraction out of the way—do you care to try and finish what we began the other night?”

The giant’s broadsword slid from its sheath with a harsh, rattling rasp. It gleamed in the sunlight, and Gregor held it forth, pointing it at Mako as if the blade were a scepter.

“It shall not go any better for you than it did the last time.”

Mako shrugged. “I did not think the last time went so bad. I still have the marks of your love to prove it.” With the tip of one dagger he pointed at the bruises on his cheeks. But then he turned the dagger so that it pointed at Gregor instead. “Yet I see that you bear some of my kisses as well—and, mayhap, marks from the embraces of some of our red-cloaked friends, who arrived just at the end of our union?”