Tribute (18 page)

The small boy curled tightly under a thin blanket shivers in his sleep. I see a mop of white-gold hair as Aidan kneels beside the bed. He places a silencing hand over the child's mouth and whispers into his ear. The boy wakes with a convulsive start, flailing his fists, and the next moment is wrapped in Aidan's arms. The Maker's voice murmurs and the boy calms. Two blond heads press together. When Aidan looks up, I step out of Elsewhere. His eyes widen and he draws breath.

‘I'll never get used to that.' He glances down at the boy, who is staring at me, transfixed between terror and fascination.

‘Hello again,' I say gently. ‘Aidan and I are going to take you somewhere safe. Out of here. But you need to be very good and not make a single sound. Can you do that?'

The boy nods and presses his face hard into Aidan's shoulder. Aidan rises to his feet, holding the child close. As he opens his mouth to speak, I feel the enemy. They are coming for us.

I put my finger to my lips. My heart is beating so loud I think I can hear it. I fear that those coming up from below must hear it too. Aidan's face goes rigid as he hears the sound of footsteps tramping down the corridor towards us. I give him a warning glance, then step sideways with my mind far enough into Elsewhere so any approaching adepts won't be able to sense my presence.

Slowly, carefully, Aidan moves to stand in the shadows beside the door. The boy clings to him with a fierce, silent terror.

I listen and count as they pass: three mages, two adepts  …  and my father. I don't bother to count the guards who troop after them. Footsteps pass the door and continue down the corridor towards the flight of stairs leading up to Aidan's cell. My father is checking his prize prisoner first of all.

I send a quick thought thread to check the prison roof. As I guessed: more adepts wait there, at least three. Thank the gods we came for the boy. Otherwise we would be on our way to the roof and certain capture.

It's now! I touch the sword at my hip, feel the weight of the poison bottle resting on my breastbone.
Time's grace
, I pray.
Protect us.
But even as I pray, I know Death waits just out of sight. ‘There are worse things,' I whisper soundlessly. It may be true, but knowing that truth doesn't seem to make me any less scared.

‘Let's go,' I say aloud.

‘Wait!' Twiss is at my side, coiled tight as a cat about to pounce. She grabs the scabbard. ‘Let me have it, Zara! If it comes to fighting now, you can use your magic. You won't need Bruin's sword.'

Hunger in her eyes – burning in the depths of her soul: the longing to kill. I hesitate. Tabitha entrusted Bruin's sword to me. But Twiss is right: I've no use for it now. Still, part of me rebels at helping this child become a killer once more.
Fool!
We don't live in a world where she has a choice. A gentle soul might prefer to die rather than kill. Twiss is not gentle. Nor am I. I have changed. If I met Aluid tonight, I would kill him without a moment's hesitation. It's not a comfortable thought: life and Time between them are forging me into something new.

I unlatch the buckle of the belt and hand the scabbard to the thief. She buckles it on in a mere tick. Practised. She's worn this sword before, gripped it in her hand and felt its purity of purpose. Longed to use it. I fear that before this night is over, she will get her chance.

Aidan has been waiting impatiently. The child is terrified but Aidan's fear is tempered with excitement and a desire to be doing. His eyes bore into mine. I nod and Twiss, still firmly in Elsewhere, goes before us and opens the door. Aidan follows, carrying the boy.

I step back into Elsewhere and go last, closing the door. Listening with ears and a thief's senses: no magic now. Too many adepts; too much risk.

Slipping down the stairs, one flight, two, and the ground floor. No mages here; only a single guard at the entrance. Aidan spots her at the same time and slides to a halt. I put my hand on his shoulder to let him know we're here too, then turn around just in time to grab Twiss's arm as she slides Bruin's sword from its sheath. She glares at me and I shake my head. I won't kill a Tribute unless forced.

Twiss rolls her eyes in exasperation. She slides the sword away and pulls out her fighting stick. She holds it up as if to say: ‘Will this do?'

I nod. We have to take out the guard quickly but with my father a few yards away I can't risk magic.

Twiss strolls up to the guard as though she's sauntering through the catacombs with her gang of middlings. The girl on guard is my age, or even younger. Twiss raises the stick and brings it down with efficient force on the guard's head. The dull thunk makes me wince: I've been on the receiving end of Twiss's stick. The girl topples forward to lie on her face, unmoving.

Twiss leaps over her like a long-legged kitten, then waits in the entrance while I collect Aidan. He's already moving, stepping over the prone body. I follow.

The courtyard is a game board of knife-edged shadows. Twiss is already across the open space, busy picking the lock of the long window onto the palazzo. Someone must have re-locked it since we passed. The courtyard holds no difficulties for a thief, but Aidan and the boy can't walk unseen in Elsewhere.

I push him to the sheltering darkness of a column. He shrugs off my hand and begins to dodge like a courtball player, flitting from shadow to shadow. He's good: a barely visible flash of movement. But it's as though he cradles a torch in his arms: the boy's hair glows like a white flame when the moonlight strikes it. It will only require one of the enemy to glance down at the wrong moment. I race after them, hardly daring to breathe.

Twiss is still battling with the lock when we arrive, out of breath and panting. She glances up, only a sharpness in her eyes betraying any nerves. I'm stinking of fear, and so is Aidan. I put my hand on his arm to comfort myself as much as him as Twiss tackles the lock with a new pick. And then: it happens. The Lord Time has counted off our allotted minutes and seconds of freedom.

‘
Zara!
'

My father's voice sears through the courtyard. He's felt my presence.

He knows that I'm alive, that I'm a heretic and that I have betrayed him.

I hear and feel them. I see them with my mind's eye as though I was standing next to them. Mages swoop from the prison rooftop, sweep down the stairwell on a carpet of air. My father comes.

Aidan reaches out a searching hand, finds the unseen Twiss and shoves her aside. She scrambles up with an oath and I grab her arm to keep her from thumping him as he steps back, raises a foot, and kicks the window in.

He leaps past spikes of splintered wood and broken glass, shoulders hunched protectively around the boy in his arms. He whirls around, his eyes automatically searching, grunts with frustration as he remembers he can't see us, and sprints away. Twiss scrambles after him. I jump past the remains of the window, tucking up my feet to avoid the broken glass. As I land, I feel my father's sending racing towards me like a tidal wave. Panic crumples my knees and I huddle on the floor. No one can outrun a sending.

‘
Zara!
'

He is shouting with his mind, not his mouth. Bullying. Demanding. Possessing.

Fear transports me back to the old life, the old ways. I'm shaking with terror. I'm nine again, and my father has split open my mind. Then I remember what Twiss taught me, slow my breathing and escape deeper into Elsewhere.

Benedict's sending rages past. Relief rinses through my body, first cold then hot, until I'm dizzy again. Thank the gods he isn't looking for Aidan  …  yet. But the Maker and his boy are in horrible danger. I rise to my knees, searching, and my stomach knots as I realise I can't see them anywhere. Nor the thief. Aidan and Twiss have disappeared!

I scramble up, a new terror twisting in my head, trying to shove me out of the sanctuary of Elsewhere. I fight to stay calm as I race along the corridor, retracing our earlier path from the catacombs.
Where's Twiss?
I can't sense her in Elsewhere. She gone deeper than I dare follow. Damn the child! She's done it on purpose. Scheming. I'll have to trust her to look after herself. At least she has some chance. But Aidan  … 

There! My heart seems to flop over in my chest as I spot him. I'm too late.

Figures loom out of the darkness, silhouetted in torchlight. Aidan lunges back and forth, holding the boy with one arm while he slashes out with the knife with the other, trying to fend off his attacker. The guard is tall, with massive shoulders and long, burly arms. He swings at Aidan with a fighting stick. Aidan dodges, feints, lunges to stab. But with his burden he's clumsy and slow. The child is holding onto Aidan with all the strength of his skinny arms and legs and wailing a constant, high-pitched scream.

‘
Put him down!
' I shout at Aidan as I race towards them. But the Maker holds onto the boy as desperately as the child clings to him. The guard's arm lifts again but my own stick is out and swinging. It cracks on the man's head and he falls.

‘Zara?' Aidan is out of breath, panting. He shoves the knife in its sheath, his eyes searching for me. His head is cut and bleeding. At the sight of Aidan's blood, I want to be sick. I begin to shake. I was nearly too late. I clutch his free arm with both hands. I want to hold him tight in my arms, but the child is in the way. The boy has stopped screaming. He clings, monkey-like, to the Maker, his body wracked with shivers. Aidan reaches out a blind hand, finds my face and lays his palm gently against my cheek.

‘I love you.'

Did he say it? Did I? Were the words only in my head? Why did I let this happen again? It hurts too much. Panic tumbles through my blood.

‘Come on,' I gasp.

And we're running, hand in hand. His grip is warm, strong. My love for him is beyond pain, beyond pleasure, beyond hope or fear. I will die to save him. Or kill.

He holds the boy against his opposite shoulder and runs step in step with me.

His fear has the same bitter-sour tang as my own. My footsteps mark its rhythm – the soul-beat of fear born the night Swift died. Until then I didn't know that your life could be taken: your soul, your love, your hope. So easily. So coldly. That the gods could look upon such evil and allow it to exist. I know it now. And I will not let my father have this second love.

***

My father's sending rips through the palazzo like a tornado spawned in the autumn storms, whirling up and down the corridors, leaping floor to floor. He's stopped calling for me but I sense his fury. I've thwarted him and now he has let loose a rampage of mages, adepts and guards. They pour through the palazzo like a pack of ravening hounds.

So far, I have kept us just ahead of the search. Changing direction, twisting and dodging. Sensing danger and guiding Aidan away from it. But for how long? We need to get to the cellars, but at least half a dozen adepts are in the way.
Oh gods!
I slide to a halt, still clutching Aidan's hand. There's no place left to run and I don't know what to do. We're trapped. Is this it? Is it time for Mistress Quint's poison?

‘What is it, Zara? Which way?
Come on!
Tell me what to do!' He's like a blind man, looking over my shoulder instead of at my face. I see desperation in his eyes, but determination as well. A fighter. Like me. We don't give up yet. I kiss him, once, quickly. And whisper: ‘We have to get out into the city. They expect us to go down. We'll go up. Up to the roofs.'

And then?
I don't have a plan after that. If I use magic to float Aidan and the boy down from the roofs, my father and his adepts will be on top of us at once. But there's nowhere else to run.

My lungs are burning by the time we've raced up two flights of stairs. No guards; no mages. Just marble floors ringing with the sound of Aidan's boots and the slap of my bare feet; closed doors and unshuttered windows looking onto the innocent night. This part of the palazzo sleeps; torches unlit. I allow hope to slip back into my heart. The gamble seems to be working. The search has fallen behind. We might just do this.

We pass the door to my father's library and a sudden chill falls across my soul. The very air here tastes foul. Dangerous.

Swift, help us!
Is praying to the dead blasphemy? She wouldn't care. I force my heavy legs to move faster. I want us away from this loathsome place. Two more floors before we reach the attics. We swing as one round a corner, step in step, hand in hand, and run straight into a small phalanx of Tribute guards. Their leader raises a sword as he spots us.

Sword?
My mind stutters with shock as it takes in the weapon.
No Tribute  …  no kine should have  … 
and then I recognise him: Otter. His eyes flash in triumph as he sees us.

‘Take them!' he shouts, lowering the sword. ‘Alive!'

The bastard! I was right. Otter is the traitor.

I clutch at Aidan to pull him back but it's too late. Four guards rush at us and tear the Maker from me, pull the whimpering child from his arms. Aidan roars and hits out, but there are too many of them. They twist his arms up behind his back until he's hunched in agony. No! I gather my magic to blast them but Otter lunges forward, grabs my shoulders and shakes me so fiercely my head spins.

And I realise: he was looking right at me when he said ‘Take them!'
I'm in Elsewhere but my father's Guardian can see me!

‘You need to learn to follow orders, Zara!' Otter growls. ‘Let's just hope you haven't killed us all!'

I hardly notice his anger, hardly notice his hands digging into my arms. He shouldn't be able to see me! I stare into frowning brown eyes that look right back at me. I'm too shocked to think, let alone struggle.

‘We're on the same side, Zara,' Otter says. Why is he telling me something so crazy? ‘This is my army.' He shakes me again, but gently this time, like he's trying to wake me up. ‘We're rebels. I'm a thief. Half-thief. But it's enough. Your father doesn't control me – he never has.'

It must be true. Only now does my shocked brain register what I should have seen at once – Otter is straddling the very edge of Elsewhere, balancing as though on the edge of a blade. It's a rare skill and one of the Hound's favourite tricks, so difficult even Twiss can't manage it, to her disgust.

I go limp with relief and for a few seconds Otter's hands are the only things keeping me standing. My father's trusted Guardian is a thief! Floster's plant? But that would mean  …  I shudder at the implications for the child Otter once was.

Then the wordless crying of Aidan's apprentice reminds me that Death lives neither in the past or future. Death is now; and she's coming.

‘It's all right,' I call to Aidan, who's swearing and trying to twist away from the guards bending his arms behind his back. ‘They're on our side.'

‘Zara?' Aidan stops struggling; stands hunched over, his head twisted sideways as he tries to look up. ‘Where are you? What's going on?' He's panting with pain.

‘Let go,' I say to Otter. He steps back and I come completely out of Elsewhere. Aidan needs to see me.
Danger!
thrills part of my mind, but I push the thought away. It's only for a moment.

‘Let go of him!' I snap at the Tributes.

They glance at Otter for permission, then release Aidan's arms. He lurches forward, swearing, and I grab him to keep him from falling. He holds me tight, then looks up at Otter. ‘We can trust him?' He sounds dazed, stunned.

Aidan shudders; gasps in horror. His hands tighten on my upper arms, fingers digging into my flesh, bruising and crushing.

‘Aidan! Stop it! You're hurting me!' I'm whimpering in pain but it's Aidan's face that contorts in agony. His lips draw back from his teeth and his eyes twist upwards in his head. I hear Otter swear. But it's too late.

Oh gods! Don't let this be happening!

Aidan's face convulses again, goes blank. And then  … 

My father looks at me through the eyes of the boy I love. ‘Zara,' he says in Aidan's voice. ‘Welcome home, my child.'

Aidan's blue eyes have gone cold and flat – reptilian. Revulsion sweeps through me. I jerk my knee up, hitting him in the groin as hard as I can. He yells and collapses forward, letting go of me. As I stagger backwards Otter's guards pile in, burying the Maker in a pile of bodies. My father roars in Aidan's voice and an enormous wave of magic blasts through the corridor. Tributes explode off Aidan like stones from a catapult.

I watch as the Maker's shoulders twitch, his head lifts and a ghastly smile of triumph spreads across his face. Benedict searches me out and Aidan's eyes fasten on mine, glazed, wide-spread, the whites shining. A gloating laugh bleats from Aidan's lips: my father's laugh.

I stagger backwards. I'm helpless. And he knows  …  Benedict knows I'm helpless while he's in Aidan's body.

Aidan begins to rise to his feet. He lurches, arms and legs jerky, like a badly controlled marionette.
What do I do? Where do I go?
I remember the poison, grab the bottle. As I move to uncork I see a flash of movement. Otter brings his stick down, hard. Aidan collapses on the floor.

‘Get back into Elsewhere, Zara!' Otter roars at me.

I do what I should have done from the first and retreat into Elsewhere, raging at my stupidity. I feel my father's mind roaring among the Tributes, searching for me. Feel his fury when he can't find me. And then he's gone.

I rush to Aidan's motionless body. I hear his apprentice wailing as I crouch down and feel for a pulse. Otter pulls me off. ‘He'll live,' he says tersely. He's glaring at me as though he hates the sight of me. ‘Get out of here. I'll take care of the Maker and bring him to you. Now, go!'

Too late. I feel an adept approach. I whirl around to see a crimson-cloaked figure racing towards us on a carpet of air. From behind me comes a twang of bowstrings. Three arrows fly. The mage deflects two, but one strikes her in the shoulder and she's falling like a wounded bird. A red, bloody eagle. It's Challen, my father's assistant. Three Tributes are on her before she hits the ground. One screams and falls stone dead. Two pikes stab downwards, lift and plunge again; and Lady Death walks among us.

Otter pushes me away, slings Aidan over his shoulder. Another Tribute carries the child, who's curled in a tight, whimpering ball. Otter glances at the body of the fallen Tribute; the mage sprawled in a pool of blood the same colour as her robes, and then at me. ‘Go back to Floster,' he shouts. ‘Stay in Elsewhere and get the hell out of here, Zara. I've lost a soldier because of you. I don't want to lose the war.
Go!
'

***

I'm running. Death, guilt and fear chase me.
I stood there, like the weak, useless child I once was and let him take over Aidan.
I remember the scorn in Otter's eyes.
It's my fault! People have died because of me. But Floster would have let Aidan die. Worse than die. And her ambush might have failed and then my father's plot against the Makers would mean death and horrors not seen since the Maker war. I had to come. It isn't my fault the Tribute died. Otter's wrong. He's wrong!
I run and run.

One floor down and I wade through an incoming tide of guards and warrior mages. I stumble into three of them but they blame each other. They only believe their eyes. Even my father. Then I feel him approach and fear sends me cowering against the nearest wall. He strides into view, black robes flapping like the wings of a carrion crow. His shoulders are hunched with hatred and rage. I feel his mind searching for me. Searching for Aidan – who must still be unconscious – searching for Otter. I feel his confusion and it comforts me. The great man can't find his prey and it infuriates him.

I stand with my back pressed against the cold stones of my father's palazzo, wishing I could melt into them. I could, but he would feel my magic. As I watch him approach, I forget to be afraid. Hatred wells up, dark and bitter. Eleanor, the mother I barely remember. Swift. Gerontius. Aidan. Bruin.
I owe you, Father.
Otter told me to run away. But the gods have given me a chance to put an end to this. Now. Here.