Winter Be My Shield (18 page)

‘What time is it?' Sierra said again, turning her face around to try to catch some glimpse of light.

‘Still early afternoon,' Isidro said. ‘It'll be a good few hours before the sun is low enough for you to see.'

She slumped in the saddle with a sigh. ‘This plan Cam has to seek shelter with the Wolf Clan — do you think it will work? Mirasada will be marrying Duke Osebian at midsummer and he'll flood the Wolf Lands with his own men. Surely you'd be better off finding shelter elsewhere.'

‘Well, for one thing, neither Mira nor her mother will simply hand the Wolf Lands over to an outsider, no matter who Mira's forced to marry. But to be honest, Sirri, I don't know. There aren't many who are willing to take the risk of sheltering us. I think we'll have to take what we can get. If nothing else, the Wolf Clan will give us some time to work out just what other options we have — presuming we're not overrun by then.'

‘Are there any other options?'

He sighed. ‘There was a time we talked about heading west to the Akharian Empire, but I think that ship has sailed. Before the invasion, and before this wretched arm, we might have stood a chance, but now?' He turned to her, still a little unnerved at trying to have a conversation with someone whose eyes he couldn't meet. ‘But you could ride that way. Would Kell chase you into the empire?'

‘The Akharians kill mages like me — or so Kell says. I suppose he might have been lying. Their sorcerers are trained to serve the emperor. Kell says they are slaves — better treated than the brutes who work in the mines and the fields perhaps, but slaves all the same. Any who learn the ways of the Blood are slaughtered, no matter how many of their own men it takes to kill him. Even their generals won't tolerate a Blood-Mage, however useful they might find one in battle. I suppose —' She broke off just as Isidro felt a shiver run through his body, a tremor that rippled
along his nerves and wrung a wave of pain from his ruined arm. Isidro grabbed for the pommel of his saddle as he felt himself sway. The hillside dipped and swung around them and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea.

The moment his eyes closed a shadowy scene appeared in the darkness behind his eyelids. Isidro saw a knife in his right hand, which was whole and unbroken, and with the other he dragged a bound and gagged man from the saddle of a nervous horse.

Isidro shook his head, trying to force the picture away, but it stayed with him even after he opened his eyes again, a ghostly image overlaying his own vision. His horse, the mare Sierra had stolen during her escape, seemed to sense something was wrong — she tossed her head and broke into a nervous, jolting trot. Isidro gathered up the reins and tried to soothe her with his voice and his seat, but it only made the mare quicken her pace and fight the bit.

‘What's going on?' Sierra said, groping for the pommel of her saddle.

‘Something's upsetting the horses.'

She kicked her feet out of the stirrups. ‘It's probably me. I'd better get down —'

‘No, stay where you are. If they've caught wind of something stalking us, a leopard or a tiger, you'll be safer where you are.'

‘I can deal with a predator, but I don't think that's what's bothering them.' She slipped down from the saddle and staggered as she landed in soft snow.

Isidro was about to reply when he blinked again; in that moment of darkness the shadowy vision suddenly resolved into a brilliant view as clear and crisp as a reflection in mirrored glass. He was looking down at the body of a man being butchered alive. He had been gutted like a hunter's kill, belly and abdomen laid open, ribcage cracked and wrenched apart to expose his beating heart. In that vivid glimpse, Isidro saw bloody hands reaching for it.

The next thing Isidro knew, he was stumbling through the snow with his heart pounding and his head feeling as if it was about to explode. Sierra was beside him with his good arm across her shoulders, bearing up beneath him to support his weight. She'd pulled her blindfold down and was squinting at him through reddened eyes. ‘By the Black Sun,' she said through gritted teeth. ‘You see it too, don't you?'

‘What in the hells is happening?'

‘It's Rasten. He forged a link with you when he worked the rituals. You're seeing through his eyes, but he can't see you. We're not in any danger.'

Blood and flame filled his vision. Eyes open or closed, it made no difference — he couldn't look away from the scene playing out before him. It triggered memories he did his best to keep buried and once again he could smell the hot iron and the sweet, foul stench of burning hair and skin.

‘Isidro!' Sierra's hand tightened on his shoulder. ‘Don't think about it! Stay here. Focus on something else.' He clenched his teeth and tightened the muscles of his wounded arm. It sent a spear of pain through him, enough to make him cry out, but it drove the other view from his mind. For a few seconds, there was no room in his mind for anything but pain.

Beside him, Sierra trembled. ‘Not like that!' she gasped. ‘Black Sun …'

‘It's the only thing that works,' he said. Too weak to hold himself up, he dropped to his knees and slumped against Sierra, trusting her to support them both.

‘Do you want me to get Cam?'

‘No,' he said. Cam would only worry if he saw him like this. Another blink and the vision shifted. This time, he saw a wave of flame engulf men and horses in a sooty red haze. ‘By the Fires Below, what's he doing?'

‘He's killing them,' Sierra said softly. Then Isidro heard hoofbeats approaching them and felt Sierra stiffen. He looked up and saw Cam riding towards them with Rhia close behind.

Cam's face was a dark mask of anger and when he reined in he slipped down from the saddle before his horse had halted. He dropped the reins, trusting his horse's training to make it stand, and strode towards them. ‘What in all the hells is going on here?'

Sierra straightened but before she could reply, Rhia drove her horse towards her. ‘What have you done? Get away! Get away from him!'

Sierra raised a hand and Isidro felt her power prickle over his skin. A spark leapt from her hand and flickered up her arm, coursing around her shoulder and torso in a tangle of blue light. Rhia's horse shied violently and upset her seat so badly she had to grab for the mane to keep from falling.

With a snarl, Cam strode forward and seized hold of Sierra's wrist. ‘Don't you threaten her —'

Sierra flinched as though expecting a blow, but then with a shudder she brought herself under control and met his glare with one of her own. ‘Let go of me,' she said with deadly calm.

Cam released her wrist and took a step back, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

Rhia, her mount now under control, slipped from the saddle and went to Isidro. ‘What did she do to you?'

‘She didn't do anything —'

‘Curse it, Isidro, don't give me that,' Cam said. ‘I can see that something is wrong.' He turned back to Sierra. ‘Why in all the hells didn't you call for help?'

‘Because I asked her not to!' Isidro shouted. The effort left his head spinning and he slumped down again. Mercifully the visions of blood and flames had ended, but in their wake he felt some phantom force prickling through his flesh, jangling over his nerves and leaving them raw and frayed.

Cam took a breath through clenched teeth. ‘Will one of you
please
tell me what's going on here!'

‘It's Rasten,' Sierra said. ‘He's on our trail with a couple of dozen men, and someone attacked him.'

‘Who? Not Wolf men, surely?'

‘No,' Sierra said. ‘I heard them shouting and I think they were Akharian.'

‘You
heard
them?' Isidro said, looking up at her. ‘I couldn't hear a thing.'

‘Well, no, but you've never dealt with a ritual link before — I'm surprised you saw anything more than a few flashes. But Kell and Rasten have been using me in rituals for years now and I've grown used to the echoes.'

‘But how can you be sure they were Akharian? Do you know the language?'

‘I don't, but Kell does. He taught Rasten and I've heard them use it.'

Cam was scowling at her with his fists jammed against his belt. Before he could speak again, Sierra turned to him. ‘Look, the rituals Kell and Rasten use leave these marks behind, like scars. The lore calls them “wounds of the soul”.'

‘Wounds of the soul? What a load of rot —'

‘Yes, I know it sounds stupid, but that's how Rasten explained it to me. The ritual forges a connection between the mage and the subject
and it remains for as long as they both live. It's kind of a … a conduit for energy, and it flows both ways. While Rasten was gathering power, some of that energy spilled back down the conduit to Isidro, carrying an echo of what Rasten was seeing.'

‘Does that mean Rasten can see what I see?' Isidro demanded.

Sierra made a face. ‘Under the right circumstances, yes, but it's unlikely. When I escaped, Rasten tried to reach me, to trick me into giving myself away. I could hear him but because I didn't reply he had no way of knowing if I had. You have an affinity for power, Isidro, but it is very weak. Even if you wanted to make contact, I doubt you could reach far enough for anyone to hear. We only heard Rasten because he'd raised more power than he could easily hold and some of the overflow spilled down the conduits to us.'

‘But what if Rasten tried to reach him?' Cam said. ‘If he traced me to the village, he could have found out what we bought, and from that he could guess that Issey's still alive. Could Rasten do the same thing and see through Isidro's eyes?'

‘He can try, but unless Isidro returns contact, it won't do him any good. Since Isidro doesn't know how to raise power, there's no issue of him raising more than he can hold.'

‘Not for him,' Cam said. ‘But what about for you? If these echoes are unintentional, you could be sending them, too.'

Sierra shrugged. ‘It's possible, but I'm not carrying that kind of power — not since that battle the other night. Even then, it wouldn't tell him where I am, not unless he recognises some landmark nearby. All you see is a picture: there's no sense of distance or direction. It can't put us in any more danger than we're already in.'

‘Is this all in that book of yours?' Isidro said, looking up at her.

‘I think so,' Sierra said. ‘Not that I can understand the rotten thing. But I'll show you when we stop tonight. You might make more sense of it than I have.'

Isidro nodded. The stones set into the cover carried enchantments that preserved the parchment and the ink. He had realised when looking at it last night that the book was much older than he'd first thought. The language was archaic, and to someone like Sierra, who'd only learned Mesentreian when Kell had taken her prisoner, it was almost incomprehensible.

Cam hooked his thumbs into his belt and scowled. ‘So Isidro's a sorcerer too, is that what you're saying?'

‘Nothing of the sort. He's a Sensitive, but you must have known that already. What Kell and Rasten did blasted open the channels of his power, but he still can't use it any more than a child can swing a battle-axe. This is why Blood-Mages do their best to make sure no one leaves their dungeons alive — otherwise there would be dozens of folk like Isidro, able to spy on them whenever their power ran high.'

His head clearing now, and his heart slowing to a more natural rhythm, Isidro looked down at his ruined arm and suppressed a sigh. If he could wield power like Sierra …
And what difference would that make?
he told himself. He'd still be crippled, still be unable to tie his shirt or his sash, would never set a snare or lash a load down on a sled. ‘They were Akharians?' he said to Sierra. ‘You're certain?'

She bit her lip. ‘As certain as I can be. It sounded like the language I've heard Kell and Rasten speak, but I don't know it myself.'

‘Isidro would know,' said Cam, ‘but you didn't hear it, did you? Did you see anything that would tell you who they were?'

Isidro shook his head. ‘They were wearing war-coats with the hoods pulled up, with snowgoggles and cowls over their mouths as if they'd been lying in wait and wanted to catch the frost from their breath.' He glanced up at Sierra. ‘I'm not saying you're wrong, just that I didn't see anything to identify them.'

‘It could have been Charzic's men,' Cam said. ‘I still think it's madness for the Akharians to come east. I don't see why they'd turn their backs on Severian's army to run around here in the north for the sake of a scattered handful of slaves. And if they were, we would have heard about it in the village — someone would have seen smoke from the burning buildings and there would be people fleeing ahead of the legions.'

‘I know what I heard,' Sierra snapped. ‘I told you about this days ago! If you still don't believe me, it's your cursed problem.'

‘Look, either way we need to keep moving,' Isidro said as he rose shakily to his feet. Both Rhia and Sierra moved to offer him a steadying hand, but Rhia was closer and she warned Sierra off with a glare. ‘Whoever they were makes no difference. Rasten tore them to shreds and there's no longer any doubt that he's on our trail.'

Sierra bent over the book with a frown creasing her brow, brushing the tip of her braid against her lips. When her eyes shifted back to the start of the passage she'd already read several times before, she bit the thick rope of hair in a sudden fit of frustration, and when she reached the end spat it out in disgust. ‘Fires Below, I've read this passage five times and it still makes no sense!'

Isidro lifted his head from the pillow of his arm. ‘Let me see?' Sierra shifted it around for him and then raised her arms above her head to stretch her back as best she could in the low-roofed tent.

Isidro scowled as he puzzled through the text. ‘You're right,' he said after a few moments. ‘It's nonsense.' He flicked back through a few pages of dense, crabbed script. ‘Is this the only book Kell had?'

‘It's
the
book,' Sierra said. ‘Whenever Rasten gave me a lesson, it came from that. Not that it made any more sense then. He'd have me copy a page out, and then he'd go through it line by line and explain what the wretched thing meant. At first I thought it was just because I didn't speak Mesentreian well enough, but now I'm not so sure.' She lay down, rolling onto her back, and covered her eyes with one hand. The worst of the snow blindness had passed and she could open her eyes in daylight now, but only while she was wearing goggles to reduce the glare. At the end of the day when her eyes were tired, her vision tended to blur again.

‘I don't think your Mesentreian is the problem,' Isidro said. ‘I think it's written to be confusing.' He turned back to the frontispiece of the book, where a list of names had been scrawled with dates beside each one. ‘Blood-Mages aren't known for treating their apprentices well, I take it?'

Sierra snorted. ‘They're no better than slaves.'

‘That's what I thought. So, no Blood-Mage would want his apprentice to learn something he wasn't ready to teach. And they definitely wouldn't
want a runaway to steal the book and learn all his master's skills for himself …'

Sierra held herself very still for a moment and then began to curse. ‘May the Black Sun cut out his worthless heart and feed it to her hounds. I've been lugging that dead weight all this way for nothing.'

‘Well, the real knowledge has to be in here somewhere,' Isidro said. ‘It's probably a memory-aid of sorts, otherwise there'd be no value in keeping it. The challenge is just to separate the real mage-craft from the drivel. Which isn't going to be easy, given how little we know of mage-craft.'

There were a score or so of names on the list, with dates that spanned more than three hundred years. ‘Were these apprentices?' Isidro asked, running a finger down the list. ‘It looks as if some of them died before their masters.'

‘The only way an apprentice can be free is if he kills his master,' Sierra said. ‘Most of them die in the attempt. You see that name above Rasten's? Pendaran? He's the reason Kell walks with a cane. He tried to hamstring the old man.'

‘You're not on here,' Isidro said.

‘Well, I wasn't really an apprentice. More of a servant, I suppose. Kell used me to generate power. He never meant me to be able to wield it.' Sierra frowned at the tent roof. ‘Do you know the stories of Vasant and his books?'

‘Of course.'

While the most powerful and power-hungry mages aligned themselves with the factions fighting for survival against Queen Leandra's forces, there were other mages who wanted no part of the fight for supremacy — the scholars and tradesmen of the craft, weak in power for the most part. Some were rejected by their kin and driven away; others left voluntarily rather than expose their families to the danger of trying to protect them from an increasingly hostile population. While Leandra was hounding the last of the factions, in order to remain independent of the warring sides, these mages came together under the leadership of the most powerful, the scholar later known as the Demon Vasant.

Leandra had ordered the clans under her banner to destroy every book of mage-craft and every mage-crafted device they could find. As the order went out, these minor and independent mages preserved what they could of their history and their craft and, under Vasant's leadership, gathered
together all the books and relics they could find. Vasant hid them in various caches and hoards throughout Ricalan until Leandra finally cornered him and his followers at the temple complex once known as Blood-of-Earth, but now called Demon's Spire. There, Vasant had made his last stand, and after losing fully half her men, Leandra wore the Last Great Mage and his followers to exhaustion and slaughtered the last mages of Ricalan, a rag-tag army of scholars, hearth-mages and wandering craftsmen.

‘Do you think they still exist?' Sierra said. ‘The books, I mean? When I was a girl I used to dream about finding them. I thought there must be something there that would teach me how to use my power. I've heard the tales the priests tell, that Leandra found them and had them all destroyed, but they might have been lying to keep people from searching for them.'

‘I wouldn't put it past them,' Isidro said. ‘According to the histories, Vasant was the greatest mind of his age — he knew Leandra would be searching for them. It's hard to believe he left them somewhere where people with no power at all would have been able to find them and destroy them.'

‘But people
have
searched for them ever since Leandra the First sealed the caves. They've had a hundred years to find them,' Sierra said. ‘If no one's discovered them by now they must be gone for good. Perhaps Vasant outsmarted himself and hid them too well.'

She frowned up at the roof of the tent and the globes of light clinging to the chimney. Ever since she'd come to realise just what she was, she'd wondered what it would have been like to be born a hundred years before, when mages where honoured for their talents, not reviled. None of this would be happening now if there were still mages in Ricalan.

Whenever Sierra could pull herself back from the immediate danger to see the greater threat that stalked the north, she felt overcome by a rush of fury. She was enraged that this invasion had occurred, and that their foreign king had brought this upon them and yet would not raise a hand to defend the people he ruled from being slaughtered and enslaved.

She wanted to fight  — what use was this power she'd been given if not to defend the only home she'd ever known? But how could she, with Rasten snapping at her heels and Kell determined to reclaim her, no matter what it cost? But even if she could shake them from her trail, she knew the clans would never accept a creature like her, whatever the
threat they faced. The clans had decided long ago that they would rather accept foreign rule than share Ricalan with mages.

Contemplating the greater threat left her feeling more dejected than before. The only people in the world who wanted her were the monsters she had fled from, Kell and Rasten — well, them and the warm, kind and quick-witted man who was sharing her tent for the last time. Tomorrow they would reach the cache and then go their separate ways, swept apart by the winds of fate as swiftly as they'd been brought together.

Sierra rolled over with a sigh and closed the book. ‘Well, if the wretched thing is as good as useless, I won't waste any more time on it tonight.'

Seeming as pensive as Sierra felt, Isidro lay back beside her. He touched his fingers lightly to his splinted arm with a frown creasing his brow, and she wondered if he was thinking of the pain that would return once she was forced to leave.

‘It'll get better,' she told him. ‘Once you're in a safe place and have time to rest and heal it won't be so bad.'

‘That's what Rhia tells me,' he said.

If Rasten found her Isidro and Cam would be safe for a while. Rasten would be fully occupied with containing her and bringing her back to Kell, with no time to spare to chase a pair of fugitives.

‘Will you head north?' Isidro asked.

‘And east, I think,' she said. ‘Just because it's away from Kell. If I can stay ahead of Rasten until the fighting gets truly fierce, then Kell might have to call him back to help him …' She took a handful of the blankets beneath her and crushed them in her fist until her knuckles turned white. ‘I wish I could stay, I truly do, but I'd only bring you danger …'

‘I know,' he said. ‘Sirri, do as you must. I'm just grateful for what you've given me, and the time we've had …'

She squirmed closer and laid her hand on his chest. He was stronger than he had been the night she woke in a strange tent and he hailed her in the dark, even with the exertion of travelling. Was it just relief from the pain that had changed him, or was there something more going on within his lean and battered frame? Sierra supposed she'd never get to find out. ‘I just wish that we could change this road we're on. There must be something that can be done — against Kell, against the Slavers — but I just can't see it.'

He said nothing and, as the silence grew unbearable, Sierra hauled herself up and kissed him, hungry and demanding. ‘Make me forget,' she said. ‘Please, Issey, one last time. Make me forget and I'll do the same for you …'

 

‘The cache is just down in that copse,' Cam said. They stood in the shelter of a few trees, gazing across an avalanche-cleared slope. ‘Looks like there's someone down there already.'

Sierra adjusted the twisted leather cord of her snowgoggles. They left welts in her skin, but she didn't dare take them off. Even a few moments of exposure would risk another bout of blindness. Once she was on her own that would be a disaster.

Through the narrow field of view the goggles allowed she spotted the figure Cam was talking about. He was wearing a white coat but made no other effort to conceal himself. His hood was thrown back and he held a spear in one gloved hand, gazing about the open slope with a mixture of watchfulness and boredom.

‘Looks like a sentry,' Isidro said. ‘You told Mira where our cache was, didn't you?' he asked Cam.

Cam nodded. ‘She was going to leave some more medicines there.' In the first few days after Isidro's rescue, when he had been too ill to be moved, Cam had taken two of the horses and ridden hard for Ruhavera, the seat of the Wolf Clan, to beg them for the medicines Isidro desperately needed. ‘She must be here,' Cam said, ‘or one of her kin, maybe. I don't think they'd bother with guards for a mere messenger.'

Sierra shrugged deeper into her fur, but it did nothing to dispel the chill that gathered inside her. Cam had been cool but civil to her ever since the day of Isidro's vision. He'd not said one word to her about Isidro spending most of the nights since then in her tent, but Sierra had the impression that it was only because the arrangement was temporary. The previous night had been the last. She was leaving them today, probably within the hour. She had been doing her best not to think about it.

‘I should go now,' Sierra said. ‘Better if they never see me.'

‘We don't have enough supplies left,' Isidro said. ‘There's another day's worth for the lot of us, but that'll only keep you for a week.'

‘There's the grain for the horses …' Sierra said.

‘But you'll need more than grain to keep you fed.'

‘With the Wolf men to help us dig, it won't take long,' Rhia said quietly from behind them. ‘You will be able to go on your way while it is still light.'

Sierra tossed her head, about to reply when her eye fell on Isidro, standing by his horse with the reins held loosely in his mittened hand. For his sake, she wouldn't make a scene. Unlike Cam, the others had made no effort to hide their disapproval of the time he spent with her, and she had no wish to make things any more difficult for him.

Isidro turned his back on Rhia and caught Sierra's eye with a smile and half-shrug that made her stomach twist. She wasn't naïve enough to believe it was love they shared after knowing each other for little more than a week, but it was comfort and affection and a mutual regard. The others treated him like a child. Even Cam. They meant well, but it made her grit her teeth to see how they spoke around him and shared glances above his head, as though Kell had robbed Isidro of his wits as well as his independence.

Their pace had slowed considerably these last two days. They'd been pushing the horses hard and they were showing the strain. Cam had been planning to let them have a day of rest once they reached the cache, and Sierra had been half hoping, half fearing, they would reach the site so late in the day it would be too dark to move on once they did uncover the supplies. The thought of being on her own again filled her with dread. The night before, she'd dreamed of the dark, solitary cell where Kell had kept her for months after her capture. She'd woken sobbing at the memory, but couldn't bring herself to tell Isidro. He had enough troubles without bearing hers as well.

‘Don't worry,' Cam told her. ‘They won't hold you up for long. We'll have you on your way soon enough.'

Cam started across the slope, leading his horse behind him. As he stepped out onto the clear ground, the sentry barked a warning, bringing a few other warriors to his side at a run. But by the time Cam had covered half the distance across the bare slope, they were lounging against their spears again, so Sierra assumed they had recognised him, though no one shouted his name. She dropped back in the line, letting Isidro and Rhia go ahead before she led her horse across.

At the centre of the clearing, surrounded by warriors dressed in pristine white, was a young woman with bright red hair bound up in fine
braids, each tipped with a blue glass bead. ‘Mira!' Cam called; he strode over to engulf her in an embrace while the woman laughed in delight.

Even before Kell had taken her to Lathayan, Sierra had heard of Mirasada of the Wolf. The Wolf was the largest clan left in Ricalan, but even before the clans of the southern coast had been driven off their lands and scattered, they had been among the wealthiest, with a vast territory to their name. Mirasada had been the unofficial heir for years, but the king had only formally accepted her mother's choice of a successor a few months ago — and only then on the provision that she marry his cousin and heir, the Grand Duke Osebian.