The Guild (28 page)

Experience, however, told instinct to shove off. Similar moments in her past had taught her that one should never back down from a bully. Particularly when one was in the right, and definitely when in a place with plenty of witnesses. Even if the apprentice had fled, off to one side, she spotted a familiar long-nosed, scarf-wrapped face coming down the hall, hair re-illusioned to look nut brown instead of ginger red.

Encouraged, she lifted her chin slightly, not budging an inch. “Physical age is no obstacle to maturity, Mister Tuddlehead. And yes, I dared to judge you. I was doing my
job
. By the laws under which Mekha oppressed us . . . you did an excellent job as archbishop. Do keep in mind, however, that some of those laws have now
changed
 . . . and were changed last night by a full quorum of Guild Masters.”

He frowned, looking somewhere past her shoulder as he silently counted in his head. “I know all the Gearmen, save yourself, that were at that table. Subtracting them, the count should have been short of a full quorum.”

“That’s because we appointed a new Guild Master last night, of a new guild,” Alonnen stated, joining Rexei. He looked remarkably relaxed, for the one mage the priesthood would have cheerfully killed to get their hands on just three days before, had they known of his strength and his existence.

“What new guild?” Elcarei asked, glancing between the two of them.

“The Holy Guild. The new priesthood,” Rexei answered. It was her place to do so, though she certainly wasn’t going to tell this velvet-clad bastard
who
the new Guild Master was. “Those who serve Guildra, Goddess of Guilds, shall also serve the people of this land. Rather than try to bully and abuse them.”

He sucked in a sharp breath . . . but said nothing to her for her
impertinence. Turning instead to his novice, he pointed at the reception desk. “Leave the rest for the ingrates to pick up. We have better things to do with our time.”

Nodding, the young man fished out the various coats, hats, and scarves from his bag and dropped them on the currently unoccupied desk. Flattening the bags, he rolled them up and stuffed them into the pockets of his long velvet overcoat, not quite as luxurious as the ex-archbishop’s but still clearly a cut above the average Mekhanan’s woolens.

“Hey, Elcarei,” Alonnen called out as the two headed for the front door. “Don’t do it.”

One hand on the door, pushing it just open enough to let in a spill of bright sunlight and cold air, the ex-priest frowned back at the long-nosed redhead. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t summon what you’re planning to summon. Don’t betray humanity,” Alonnen warned him.

Rexei flinched under the swift, sharp look the ex-archbishop flicked her way. She frowned at Alonnen, but he kept his gaze on the middle-aged priest. Not wanting to make any movement that would draw more attention to herself, Rexei bit her tongue to keep silent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elcarei finally stated, lifting his chin just enough to look down his nose at the shorter man.

“Don’t do it. Or I swear, in Guildra’s name,” Alonnen promised, “you will be thrown out of this land and hunted through every other nation across the face of this world until you come to your end.”

Elcarei raked his gaze down over Alonnen’s plain, somewhat worn gray woolens, his slim frame, and unintimidating height. “What, should I be afraid of
you
? Your threats are meaningless.”

“Not mine,” Alonnen warned him. “Prophecy will be your downfall.”

“
Prophecy
is a bunch of Gods-spewed shit,
boy
, designed to herd us onto a path of Their choosing,” he told Alonnen, who was clearly old enough to grow a beard, given the hint of ginger stubble along his jaw. Elcarei pushed the door wide. “But They
also
gave us free will . . . or haven’t you heard?”

“Then don’t summon the demons They predicted you would,” Alonnen said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

For a few seconds, the ex-archbishop lingered in the doorway, backlit by the white of the sun on snow and framed by a gust of icy wind that ruffled his robes. Then his mouth twisted in a sneer, and he turned away, striding down the clean-swept steps. The door swung shut in the wake of the novice, extinguishing the excess light and leaving Rexei and Alonnen for a moment in what felt like darkness, despite the glow pouring in from the narrow windows to either side of the double-wide entrance.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Rexei finally muttered.

Alonnen looked at her. “Hadn’t done what? Given him a warning? Hoped against hope that he might change his mind? I have an obligation to
stop
him, you know.”

She sighed and rubbed at the tension in her forehead. “Not that. I meant, told him in the first place that you know about the demon-summoning thing. Because that put his attention on
me
. I may not be Gabria, shrinking from even the thought of a God or Goddess getting anywhere near me, but I am
not
comfortable catching the scrutiny of a bunch of men whose sole job in life—for generations!—was to capture and torture and suck the
life-energy
out of our people.”

She said the last in a hiss, because she wasn’t comfortable with the thought of anyone else overhearing even that much. The look he gave her was rueful and apologetic, enough to mollify some of her stress. Not all of it, but some of it.

“Sorry, Rexei,” Alonnen muttered. “I guess . . . I guess I’m so
energized by the thought of finally being
rid
of the threat of Mekha over our heads, I forgot the men who followed Him are still quite dangerous, even if they don’t have His foul power to back their efforts anymore.”

“Just . . . try to remember that,” she sighed, for a moment letting go of her humming as she rubbed again at her forehead.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he told her, “you do have the top dozen most dangerous men and women in the whole world at your back. I told them you’re the Gearman of the prophecy, and they’ll do whatever it takes to help keep your strength up.”

“Oh,
that
makes me feel better,” she muttered. “I just wanted to avoid the priesthood, live my life, and . . . and
maybe
find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”

“We’ll look for them, too.” He rubbed her arms through the oversized coat he had scrounged for her, urging her toward the back of the Consulate. “Come on, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now. I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning.”

Debating, Rexei decided not to put on her returned clothes. Not until the others in the Mages Guild had checked them for tracking spells. And for binding spells; she didn’t want to be found
or
rendered helpless simply from being careless. When they returned to the formidable protections of the Vortex, she would find someone who could examine her coat and hat for spells, and then break any if need be.

For the time being, all she could do was hum her anti-magic songs and push the field outward, enveloping not only herself but Alonnen, and when they reached it, the motorcart. The others
were already bundled in the back and waiting, while the driver kept one foot on the galloper to warm up the engine and the other foot on the stopper pedal to hold the vehicle in place until they were ready to go.

• • •

“
. . . L
ive my life, and . . . and maybe find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”

Elcarei nodded to himself, seizing on that piece of information. If that Aian mage was right, they might want several sacrifices, mage and non-mage, to bind a truly powerful demon to their cause—and to a Netherhell with that long-nosed fellow’s warnings. Elcarei didn’t even believe in Seers; there hadn’t been a single one born within Mekhana’s borders for over four hundred years, and all the fancy predictions of that freak of a Seer-King to the east hadn’t lost them an inch of Mekhanan soil in hundreds of years.

The enchantments on the cap and coat were doing their job. He listened as the other man spoke. “
We’ll look for them, too
,” the deeper voice stated.
“Come, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now.”

Elcarei wished he knew the man’s name; he knew the fellow was a visiting Guild Master simply because he’d been one of the unfamiliar faces at the head table last night. Then again, the ex-priest wished he knew who the head of the so-called Mages Guild was.
Or the head of that so-called Holy Guild . . . what a piece of effrontery!

“I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning
.
”

The cheek of the man!
Elcarei took special care in cracking and grinding the ice of a puddle under his boot heel as he strode back toward the temple.
I’ll show him who the imbecile is. But not hastily, no
,
he reminded himself, recalling Torven’s warnings on the matter.
No. Slowly, carefully, and with such subtlety that they will never realize my vengeance is cold but fully matured, until it is too late to stop their prolonged suffering.

He kept the seeker amulet pressed to his ear, enchanted not only to track down the boy, Longshanks, but to listen in on the youth’s conversations via the metaphysical link between discarded hair and head . . . but didn’t hear anything more. Which was odd. He
knew
the amulet was enchanted correctly. It had taken him quite a bit of his own personal energy to craft the spell and imbue it with enough power to work over a distance of fifty full miles, all of it linked to the precious, short, dark hairs liberated from the boy’s winter coat and knitted cap. But Elcarei wasn’t hearing a peep now. Not a word, not a footstep, not even a hint of the boy breathing.

Did he . . . ? No, he couldn’t have been a mage. Not inside the temple itself! Definitely not under Mekha’s watchful, ever-hungering eye. Even when we had over half the cells full, Mekha was always subtly probing everyone, even us, trying to sup a little bit of magic from His own priesthood. He would have
noticed
if the boy was a mage! No . . . oh, no, no, no,
Elcarei realized, eyes widening. He stepped into the relative dimness of the temple.
Not the boy! That man, the one with the sharp nose.
That
one spoke of a Mages Guild with the kind of assurance that spoke of personal experience with it, and he was seated as an equal among Guild Masters.
That
was the head of the Mages’ Guild!

Mekha! If only I’d
known!

Ignoring the novice who had accompanied him, Elcarei strode for the stairs and his office. The apprentice could wander off and hide somewhere if he wanted, to avoid the extra chores invoked by the dismissal of the Servers guildmembers. Elcarei had a lot of far more important thinking and planning to do.

Somehow they’ve found a way to block our best scrying spells . . .
impudent bastards. But I heard enough to lure that boy into a trap. And given how thick-as-thieves the pair looked to be, if I lure the youth into a cage, the elder will no doubt come along in an attempt to set him free. Then I’ll have both a sacrifice for a demonic proto-God, and a mage to personally feed me.

And there’s
nothing
that says we cannot still drain mages for their energies . . . for surely any mage appointed to be Guild Master of the lot will be quite powerful, with plenty to share with us as well as whatever demon that Aian fellow might conjure
.

It seemed this week was not going to be a complete disaster.

“C
ome on . . . come on! Open the door, you stupid, lazy beasts,” Alonnen muttered.

Seated at the table brought into his office to serve as her temporary desk, Rexei glanced up only briefly. Her work drafting the Holy Guild Charter, outlining all the various tasks, levels of responsibility and so forth, was something he had insisted he should oversee. Yet the moment Pelai of Mendhi had sent him sheets of paper enchanted with scrying spells and instructions on how to fold them into useful, mobile shapes, he had abandoned that task for this new one.

Not that she could blame him. Spying on demon summoners was more important than figuring out how to worship a brand-new Goddess, particularly one Rexei hadn’t envisioned as impatient in any way. “They’re not going to open the service door to the temple just because you’re willing it from five-odd miles away.”

“Every day they take out the trash at this hour for the Recyclers Guild to collect,” he told her. “Rags and scraps of paper go to the
Binders for adding into the paper pulp, metal scraps go to the Blacksmiths for sorting and re-smelting, and even scraps of food and paper rubbish gets handed over to the Tillers for compos—Ah! Aha!” Alonnen exclaimed as the gray-weathered door in question did indeed swing open.

Two novices lumbered out, laden with baskets. Looking around to make sure there weren’t any glaring, angry citizens nearby, the novices headed for the collection bins designated for compostables and non-compostables. Taking advantage of the open door, little paper bugs scuttled inside. The paper had been painted and enchanted with the lightest and least-detectable of illusion spells to look like the real thing. All but one got inside before the door could swing shut; the last one got a corner stuck in a crevice and was crumpled to death when the closing panel squished it flat.

That left nine instead of ten to do the spying work which Rexei was no longer able to perform for anyone. Not with the archbishop fully aware the “lad” was quite intelligent, and aware of what was happening inside the ex-temple. Thankfully, with the loss of Mekha, the shields and wardings on the temple had weakened. That meant Alonnen could now scry inside directly, albeit with a fuzzy view and no real hope of clear sound. On hearing that, Guardian-apprentice Pelai had suggested he could send in a whole series of clever, Mendhite-style scrying nodes.

Muttering under his breath at the loss of one of his paper spies, Alonnen focused on guiding the rest deeper into the temple. It required sliding the fingers of one hand over the crystalline tablet held in the other; each finger controlling a couple of bugs. They had a rudimentary sense of awareness built into their spell; all Alonnen had to do was guide them in a suggested direction. The rest they did for themselves as they climbed up walls, scurried along corners, and hid in the nearest cracks whenever someone came near, acting very much like the roaches they resembled.

“Which way is it to the dungeons, Rexei?” Alonnen called out. “I think I got turned around in here somewhere . . .”

Leaving her writing efforts behind, Rexei stood and crossed to the mirror. She had to frown and think. Without the original carvings on the walls, without the symbols of mighty Mekha conquering His enemies via piston and powder, engine and gear, it was hard to tell where the paper bugs were. Alonnen tapped through the different viewpoints available until she spotted a familiar pattern of two doors close together with a third offset just on the other side of the hall.

“Le—no, right,” she corrected herself. “Back up to the right; when you turn around, it’ll be on your left. That’s the door to the forbidden basement. Yes, that one there,” she confirmed as the bug currently showing the scrying view in the mirror scuttled toward the tall-by-comparison door.

There was just enough room underneath the thick, iron-reinforced wood for even the tallest of the paper roaches to crawl. Alonnen sent five that way. Someone was coming up the stairwell; he tucked them into the corners of the steps so that they wouldn’t be easily noticed, and tapped in an order on the controlling tablet to have them sit and wait.

Switching to the others, he quickly guided three of the remaining four to hide until the novice had passed, then sent them off to invade the higher-ranked priests’ studies, including the archbishop’s. The fourth, he guided all the way to the dining hall, where he had it climb up and tuck itself into a high corner, resulting in a pretty good view of the whole chamber.

Once those were positioned in high crevices, Alonnen went back to the first five, sending them scurrying down the remainder of the steps. Here, Rexei wasn’t quite as sure where to go, but that was alright; in the dungeons was where most of the temple’s masculine inhabitants were found. Specifically, in the chamber at the heart of the great circular corridors. All three levels had doors that
led into the room, or rather, onto terraced levels that had once probably held crystals on pillars, but which now held scattered cushions and the occasional chair and writing desk.

Some of those seats were occupied, but at least half the gathered priesthood stood on the main floor, watching as the tall, brown-haired foreigner coaxed the gray-haired Bishop Koler through the steps of conjuring a demon.

“
. . . don’t forget to include the name of the recipient of the energies in question—remember, students,
” their erstwhile instructor stated, “
if you use this energy for yourself directly and solely, you could end up tainting yourself with the madness of the Netherhells. Instead, offer it as a gift to your brethren, with the purity of that intention at heart.
”

Rexei shivered at the not-quite-mocking way he said that. She didn’t know much about magic, but she did know a little bit about blood magic, thanks to the instruction she had received in the outermost circle of the Vortex a few months back. It made a terrible sort of sense that giving the collected power to someone else to use would remove most of the Netherhell taint. That was, if draining magic from a demon was anything like spilling blood to raise power.

“
Are the runes correct, Master Torven?
” Bishop Koler asked politely, almost respectfully, letting Rexei know that the mage had come a long way from his status as a mere prisoner. She wrinkled her nose at the implications of that.

“
Torven
?” Alonnen repeated, staring at the face visible in his scrying mirror. The foreigner walked around the chalked lines scribed on the floor as Alonnen and Rexei watched. One good look at that distinctive Aian face, and he reared back. “Oh bloody Netherhells . . . it
is
him. I’d wondered if it was.”

Rexei frowned. “You know him? But
how
, if he’s a foreigner? I couldn’t quite catch his name myself when he was being interrogated. I was forced to hide in the next room and had to strain my ears to hear.”

Alonnen shrugged. “Late last summer I was contacted by Guardian Kerric. He wanted to exile a group of adventurers that had tried to wrest control of the Tower from him—this man being their leader,” he added, lifting his chin at the Aian mage. “The worst of the lot. Cunning, ambitious, self-centered, greedy . . . but rather too self-controlled to destroy himself with his own mistakes. Unfortunately.

“Sir Vedell of Arbra wasn’t at his Fountain at the time the deal was being made, so I stepped in and offered to dump them on the Arbran/Mekhanan border. On the Arbran side by a good thirty miles,” he added at her swift, sharp look. “It was as far away as I could get the mirror-Gate to work in conjunction with the Fountainways used to transport them all the way from eastern Aiar. Even a would-be power thief didn’t deserve capture by Mekha’s troops, or so I thought . . . though now I’m regretting my kindness. If
he’s
the one behind this Netherhell effort, then
he
is the one we have to take out. Remove him, and everything will collapse.”

“Maybe not,” Rexei cautioned him, recalling something. “The others . . . they sent word to the other temples. We don’t know how many have agreed to follow his teachings. We don’t know how easy it is to
teach
someone to conjure a demon. And we don’t know whether or not removing this Torven fellow will prevent the invasion . . . or
cause
it to happen. What the others in your Guild told me when I first met them as a journeyman Messenger still applies.”

Alonnen gave her a curious look. “What’s that?”

“That a half-trained mage is more dangerous than we may realize.” She gestured at the mirror, where Mage Torven was scowling and lecturing two of the novices about not attempting any of this on their own. The guilty flush of their cheeks and their lowered gazes showed how close a probability that had been.

“
. . . In fact, I don’t want any of you to try this on your own, all the way up through to the archbishop himself,
” Torven added sternly.
“We
still haven’t found the right Netherhell, and we will not act precipitously. One false step, one overconfident step, and we are all dead. These aren’t cowering civilians in the streets. These are monsters from our blackest nightmares, and they will seek any excuse to rip us to shreds and feast upon our remains. Some may even prefer to devour us one bite at a time while we’re still alive and screaming.
”

Rexei winced. So did Alonnen, she noticed. The Aian mage continued his lecturing as they secretly watched.

“
There will be no rushing, no practicing unsupervised, and no mistakes allowed. Elcarei has arranged for your brethren who are interested in joining us to begin transporting themselves here to learn. Patience is our new holy motto
,” they heard him say as he paced slowly around the larger circle.
“Learn it . . . or I will ensure you die by your own hand, just to sate the demons’ bloodlusts and seal whatever Gate you crack open by accident—and I’ll remind you, unlike you, I am fully trained in three foreign methods. Not just of magic but of magical combat.
”

A slash of his hand and a snap of his fingers jerked one of the two novices to his feet, even though the Aian man had his back to the velvet-clad ex-Mekhanan.

“
I—I’m a little kettle, squat and broad!
” the teenager stammered, eyes wide as his lips moved without his will. One hand flung itself up, the other hand thumped onto his hip in a fist.
“Here is my h-handle! Here i-is my spigot!”

A second snap let the youth go. He staggered back, blinked a couple times in fear, then quickly sat himself down again.

“
The poem rhymes in Aian,
” Torven stated, his dry words filling the confused silence.
“Suffice it to say, I am quite adept . . . but I am nothing compared to the wiles of a demon, should a brief moment of carelessness, of rushing things, allow one of them to get free.”
He turned back to Koler and nodded at the chalked circle.
“Your containment runes are almost perfect, bishop.”

Koler smiled smugly. Torven did not smile back in return.

“
Almost is not good enough. The circle has a small wobble in it, to your right. That’s a point of weakness that is potentially exploitable. Perhaps a weak demon would not be able to break free, but we will learn to do everything correctly from the earliest stages onward. The Aians have a saying, ‘Begin as you mean to go on.’ So let us begin again, Koler,
” Torven directed, clapping his hand on the older mage’s shoulder. “
You may use an erasing spell to fully clean the stone, and this time you may use a compass spell to ensure the innermost circle is smooth.

“
Drawing it by hand was a learning example, to show how even the smallest flaws can be a cause for concern. Your patience at this stage in the learning process, bishop,
is deeply appreciated,
” he finished, before stepping back.

“
Dammit
,” Alonnen muttered, watching the older priest comply. “This isn’t right.”

“What’s wrong now?” Rexei asked him, confused. “Because of his thoroughness, it sounds as if we’ll actually have time to figure out how to counter their intentions before they actually start summoning in earnest.”

“He’s being
too
cautious,” he complained. “For a man of such overwhelming arrogance as I saw over the last few months, he should have some flaws—not that I’m complaining about having the time to study the problem and come up with something solid, but I suspect the only reason why we
can
scry is because he hasn’t looked at the temple wardings. Now that Mekha isn’t blocking us out, what protections are left aren’t quite good enough to keep out a double-focus like this paper-bug-and-mirror system Pelai sent me.

“I suspect that’ll end once they get around to reinforcing the shielding, particularly with this fellow’s help. He’s far too clever. Cautious and clever are great traits in an ally,” Alonnen said, giving Rexei a brief smile. He then lifted his chin at the mirror, “But they’re frustrating in an enemy.”

“So he’s arrogant, but he’s not overconfident,” she murmured. “And charming enough to have won over his former jailors.”

“Exactly. Arrogance coupled with overconfidence was the flaw of many a priest . . . and I can see it is just about time for supper.” Hearing Rexei sigh, he glanced at her. “What now?”