The Guild (42 page)

Craning his neck, Alonnen stared at the scene. Several other motorcarts, motorwagons, and motorhorses blocked the street, all of them marked with the hammer-on-shield of the Precinct militia. Whoever had parked them here had turned this well-traveled thoroughfare into one long, open-air parking stall, with no regard for how anyone else would get through.

When he realized there wasn’t even foot traffic in sight, Alonnen felt a stab of alarm. Scrambling out of the back of the wagon, he muttered a spell-ward around his hand-cannon before shoving it through his belt. The ward would keep it from discharging into his leg, or worse, but would only take the briefest of thought to dispell. Hopefully . . . hopefully his brother and the other officers in the Precinct militia had not just ordered their men to charge into the temple without waiting for magical protection.

Behind him, he heard a few mutterings of confusion, then the sounds of the others dropping out of the vehicle. The air was crisp and cold, and it reeked slightly of motorcart fuel and cooling metal. They were still two blocks and a side street from the temple, but it
looked like the Militia had arrived in full force. That also explained why no one else was moving by vehicle in this part of town; no one could remember the last time Captain Torhammer had mobilized so much of the Precinct’s forces outside of the old parade days.

“Oy! Tall! Over here,” a voice called out from a shop door, speaking just loud enough to get Alonnen’s attention.

Glancing that way, Alonnen frowned, then widened his eyes, recognizing one of his brother’s under-officers. The man beckoned Alonnen over, then pulled back into the shop, giving him room to step inside. Yet more leather-and-metal clad bodies shifted and shuffled, giving him room to work his way deeper into the shop.

“There you are, Master Tall,” Rogen said, working his way through what had been a textiles shop. At the moment the bolts of fabric on the tables were covered with what looked like maps of the temple. Alonnen hadn’t even known such maps existed.

Gathering his wits, he addressed his brother. “I’ve brought fifteen mages with me. Including our champion.”

Turning, Alonnen looked toward the shop windows, only to see Orana right behind him. She smiled slightly, her robe pulled fully shut. Her frame looked a little odd, shoulders wider and bulkier than usual. Alonnen didn’t know what to make of that, since on the ride to the city she had seemed slender and normal.

“Ahh . . . right. Leftenant Rogen Tallnose, this is Witch-Knight Orana Niel,” he introduced politely.

His introduction immediately stirred a flurry of whispers around the men crowded into the shop. “
Orana Niel!
”

“Orana . . .”

“The Holy Knight is here?
”

“Praise the Gods!”

“I got my cousin back, thanks to her!”

“Enough!” Rogen called out as a few started to shift forward.
“You can thank her later. We have the new Guild Master of the Holy Guild to rescue, and we need to do it before these bastard ex-priests sacrifice Master Longshanks to some dredged-up demon from the Netherhells. Master Tall, I’ve a portable talker-box operator coordinating with Captain Torhammer on the other side of town. What in the way of illusions can your people cast around the temple so that they don’t see us coming?”

“Not many. I’m . . . not in charge of the main source for such things at the moment,” Alonnen was forced to admit. He had the unique experience of watching his unflappable brother’s jaw drop, and Alonnen quickly held up a hand. “It’s being used for the far
greater
need of sealing off the entire region from the ability to create cross-universe Portals, which will prevent more demons from being summoned. What we can do is shield you and your men. The rest will be up to Witch Orana.”

“I can toss up a static illusion if all the streets are empty of people,” Orana offered. “But there cannot be any people moving around, if you want my attention free to be able to go with you into the temple itself.”

“
I
vote bringing the only
highly trained
mage we have in the area into the temple with us,” Alonnen interjected before his eldest brother could do more than open his mouth to speak. “But what do I know? I’m just the Guild Master.”

“Don’t be a piston,” Rogen muttered back, giving him a dark look. “I’d agree to the same. What I was
about
to say is that we’ve already sent out an order to clear the streets. You can cast the spell as soon as you’ve ascertained it’s clear. I’ll assign you a squad to move you around between the shops and streets unseen.”

“No need. I have a scrying mirror with me.” Pulling it out of her copious sleeves, Ora moved over to the table with the maps.

Rogen leaned in close to his brother, speaking under his breath. “How did she get here just when we needed her?”

“My guild has its ways,” Alonnen murmured back. “Now that Mekha is gone, we can import teachers across the borders by land as well as other means . . . if we
have
stable borders. There’s peace around Heiastowne and some of its immediate neighbors, but not everyone has it or wants it.” He shifted, impatient with the preparations despite knowing they were necessary. “I don’t like waiting. I want to go in now.”

“You never served in the Militia,” Rogen reminded his brother. “Far more battles are lost through lack of care and planning than are won. What seems like a sudden ambush is often the product of hours and days, even weeks of preparation.”

“We don’t have hours, never mind days and weeks,” Alonnen countered.

“We’ll do our best,” Rogen said. “But I will not send my people into a slaughter, and I will not send yours, either.”

“And I don’t want to send them, either,” Alonnen agreed. “I’m just . . . I’m afraid they’ll interrogate her,” he muttered. “If they do . . . she’ll forget everything about the guild. She’ll forget
me
.”

“Try praying to that Goddess of hers,” the leftenant offered dryly. “Ask Her to intercede. That’s supposedly why Patron Deities exist, isn’t it? To pull off miracles and make amends when mortals cannot manage?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“No buts. Start praying,” Rogen ordered him. Lifting a hand, Rogen poked his sibling in his wool-covered chest. “One more thing. Just in case she
has
been interrogated and has forgotten you,
don’t
run up and hug her. I know you. I know that’s what you’ll do. But if you do that, she won’t realize why this complete stranger is trying to embrace her, and she may panic. She might even think she’s being attacked . . . and if she calls out for help, I am duty bound to have to arrest you.”

Alonnen gave him a disbelieving look. Rogen lifted his brows
in pointed, silent reply. Scowling, Alonnen folded his arms across his chest.

Rogen shrugged and folded his own arms as well, echoing his sibling’s disgruntled pose. “If I don’t do it, Captain Torhammer will, and
he
won’t care about your reasons why or your past relationship with her. All he’ll see is a frightened woman thinking she’s being mugged by a stranger, not just hugged. Sorry, Brother, but if she has been spell-bound to forget you, then . . . well . . . you’ll just have to start courting her all over again. From day one. Start with words, not touches.”

As much as he wanted to argue the point, Alonnen knew his elder brother was right. He hated it, but Rogen was right.

“It is done,” the Witch in their midst announced. She turned to face the leftenant, and the edge of her robe parted, showing a glint of rune-chased metal. That was what she had under her Witch-robe: armor, undoubtedly infused with spells both offensive and defensive. Some property of the sleeved, hooded cloak had hidden the aura of its magic before the folds parted, but Alonnen could see it now.

I’ll have to speak with her about how to imbue metal with various spells. We could seriously use them on things like the motorhorses and motormen, should we ever have to go to battle. There’s no guaranteeing the northern precincts won’t stop just at their own borders in their effort to throw off the old shackles and impose a new set of leaders and a new set of rules.

“Right, then,” Rogen stated, raising his voice so everyone in the shop could hear. “Master Tall, break off your . . . guildmembers into six groups. I’ll pair five sets of them with a scout to take them straight to the other groups around the perimeter. Your job, m . . . mages,” he added, stumbling a little over the dreaded
M
word, “is to shield our forces from any spells being cast. One of the favorite tricks of the priesthood is a sleeping spell that will hit an area
around you. Another is a gluelike spell that will knock you down and lock your body to the floor . . .”

Alonnen wasn’t the only mage in the shop who nodded; they were familiar with such things and knew a few counters for them.
And some of those counters aren’t even spells
, he thought grimly, fingers going to the grip of his hand-cannon.
Hurt a priest badly enough, and they won’t be able to concentrate to cast any spells.

“One warning,” Ora called out as Rogen came to the end of his list of known spells to counter. She flicked her hand, and a hovering illusion of a single man appeared in the air over their heads. It made the non-mages gasp and shift back, and the mages sway forward in envy at her skill. “This man, Torven Shel Von,
must not die
. Do not kill him.”

Dammit
, Alonnen swore, wincing as he realized where her speech was headed.
Gods in Heaven, You are just bound and determined to mock me, aren’t You?

“We have determined that
this
mage is the reason why these other priests have not unleashed
unchecked
demons upon this world. He is an Aian, so you will know him by the differences in his features from the common ex-Mekhanan, as you can see. He
must
be allowed to live and to escape, so that the various prophecies will come true regarding the successful thwarting of these demon summoners’ ambitions. Mark his face and learn it well.

“I may even have to
save
him,” she added grimly. It was the first time Alonnen had seen the normally serene woman unhappy. “But I have learned from personal experience that either you work
with
a set of prophecies to make them come true in a way that benefits you . . . or you’ll find out just how badly they can piston you from behind.
Without
pomade.”

Reminded abruptly of last night’s activities, Alonnen felt his cheeks burn. Rogen slanted him a bemused look, but thankfully did not ask why his middle brother had turned so red in the face.
Hopefully the other men and women in the shop would think it was simply from Orana’s crude mention of a topic best reserved for the privacy of a bedroom or a brothel visit.
And, dammit to a Netherhell, we won’t be able to do
any
of last night’s activities for however long it takes me to get her to fall in love again!

Focus, Alonnen
, he ordered himself in the next breath.
That’s a petty whine about a sprained finger, when the world might have all of its bones broken within the hour. Do your job, and help your brother to do his.
Clearing his throat, Alonnen addressed the dozens crowded into the shop. “You heard our champion, people. Let’s go save Rexei and, hopefully, the rest of the world.”

• • •

T
he key in the enchanted lock warned her someone was coming. Rexei tensed, prepared to zap whoever it was with a sleep spell if they were alone. The door swung inward, revealing a clutch of five apprentices. She checked the change in her inner melody before it could actually start, and forced herself to continue humming the tunes that kept her mind clear and her body able to act, if at a price.

Moving up to her side, the foremost of the five apprentice priests, Apprentice Stearlen, poked his finger against her control collar. “On your feet, boy.”

She didn’t feel any prickling compulsion to move. Rexei had a split second to realize why, then she quickly jerked herself up off the cot. By calling her
boy
when she was actually a female, he had robbed the collar of its depth of control. She couldn’t let any of the apprentices know that. Not when trapped in a room with four of them blocking her only escape route.

His next order didn’t come with a wrong-gendered epithet, however. Ordered to follow the one who had poked her collar, she debated trying to escape the moment she reached the hallway. The others flanked her, clearly unwilling to take chances. Neither was
she, save for one thing: they were clearly herding her toward the nearest entrance to the power room, where Mekha had once sat and drained His victims. Chanting, filled with syllables and sounds that made her stomach feel queasy, echoed from within the chamber.

Now or never!
Letting her body walk forward under the spell’s compulsion, Rexei hummed out loud—softly but with every bit of intent she could muster. Two of the apprentices let out soft but audible sighs before crumpling. Their bodies hit the floor with soft thumps and velvet-draped rustles, turning the other three around. While the young men narrowed their eyes, Rexei gathered her energies for a second strike.

She hummed aloud again—and Stearlen cut her off with a grab of her throat and a sharp, “
Stop
that!”

One of the apprentices fell; the other staggered into the wall and braced himself, but managed to stay awake. Unable to run because she was being held up onto her toes by the taller youth’s grip, Rexei was forced to grab at his fingers in the effort to pry them off her neck. The metal collar prevented only two of his fingers from squeezing painfully into her throat; the rest dug in deep enough to choke.

Stearlen shook her even as he tightened his grip, growling, “Don’t you dare try any more spells! You will come with me and stand where I tell you, and you will
not
move from that spot until we tell you what to do, you little grease stain!”

Dragging her forward, he didn’t wait for the last apprentice to finish shaking off the dizziness imparted by her spell. Forced to stumble in his wake, Rexei continued to try to pry his fingers from her neck. It hurt to keep humming the warding spells in the back of her mind, but she was so close to escape, she
had
to get them back up and running strong so that she could . . . step out between the slanted steps of the tiers ringing the power room, endure
another shake from the novice, and be ordered to stand still and be silent.