Allegiance, page 26
part #3 of River of Souls Series
Afraid she might start weeping if she thought about those who died, Ilse stood abruptly. She heard Mann thanking them for the news about Raul, then Benno’s servant making his appearance to guide them back to their horses.
To be honest, she had not expected them to offer a sudden resolution to her problem. The information they provided was enough. She would ride tomorrow to Duenne. There she would seek out Duke Kosenmark. Raul would be dead, but at least she could accomplish their goal of peace. That was not yet impossible.
At the inn, Mann parted from her, saying he would arrange for horses, money, and whatever else she required for her journey. Ilse retired to the drill yard and attacked the invisible air with her sword.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Her sword buried its point in the soft wooden door. Ilse noted the flaws in her approach and attack, and resumed her practice. She was vaguely aware of the sun slanting westward, of her own shadow leaping higher and longer, but all she saw was the sword and its target.
One of Mann’s guards arrived and vanished. Ilse hardly paid them attention. But when other familiar figures intruded, she paused in her drill.
Benno stood just inside the courtyard, his lean body draped in plain robes and framed by sunset. Behind him was Baron Mann—a very different Baron Mann dressed in plain dark clothes, his features settled in grave lines.
“I will take you to Duenne myself,” Iani said without preamble. “Through the magic plane. I’ve made such a journey before, alone and with others.” He lifted a hand at her protests. “Yes, we risk a great deal, but we risk more if you ride, whether you ride alone or with a company of guards. Lord Khandarr might not expect you in particular, but he will have spies watching all the roads. And you cannot reach Duenne in less than ten days.”
Ilse drew a sharp breath. “We might lose days or months in the magic plane.”
Iani nodded. “It’s possible. But you will certainly lose a week, or longer, by ordinary means. And though Lord Khandarr has set watch spells around the palace, he cannot spell all of Anderswar.”
“What does Emma say?”
Benno’s mouth stretched into an unhappy smile. “Emma said a great deal these past few hours. She distrusts Khandarr. She distrusts Armand and his court. But she agrees you must deliver your message to the king without delay. She says she will wait here for my return, whenever that return might take place, in this life or a future one.”
Another promise made, another implied weight of trust.
“And you?” she said to Mann. “Will you continue your journey south?”
“Yes and no.”
“The baron,” Iani said drily, “has expressed the desire to accompany us.”
Mann’s only response was an edged smile.
Ilse eyed him. His expression was far different from Damek’s, but she was uncomfortably reminded of the boy, and others who had decided to sacrifice themselves for her. “Josef,” she said softly.
That brought a change to his countenance. She had not addressed him by name before.
“Josef, you know what we face,” she said. “Armand will not like my news. Raul might die, no matter what. Anyone who helps me—”
“Stop it,” Mann said sharply. “I do understand the danger, however difficult you find that to believe. I am not stupid. I am not a romantic, unlike you and the rest of your insufferable friends. In spite of that, I might prove useful. I have done so already.”
Benno glanced toward her with a meaningful expression. She considered a moment, then shook her head. They could disable Baron Mann with sword or magic. And yet she wasn’t certain she wanted to. He had proved an unexpected ally, reliable and perceptive. A good companion to have in difficult times.
“What preparation do you need to make?” she asked Mann.
“None. All has been accomplished while you skewered your target.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “You expected me to agree?”
“Let us say I dared to hope.”
She felt the weight against her heart lighten. Yes, he would make a good companion indeed.
“Very well,” she said. “Let us go at once.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
IT TOOK ILSE very little time to prepare.
She had kept almost nothing of her possessions throughout this long, long journey to Duenne—abandoning what little she had accumulated in Melnek, then Tiralien, and later in Osterling Keep. Her only weapons were those gifted by Baron Mann. The only item she had safeguarded from Taboresk was the letter from Duke Miro Karasek, now limp and imbued with the scent of her body. Once she had dressed in fresh plain clothing, she tucked the letter between her skin and her shirt.
Iani and Mann waited for her in Mann’s private sitting room. Iani had curled into a padded armchair, much like a cat, and was reading a small thick book. Mann had barricaded himself behind his desk. Papers covered its surface, and he was busily writing. At her entrance, both men glanced up. Iani slid his book into a pocket. Mann scribbled a last hasty signature, then laid a blotting sheet over the page.
“Are we done here?” she asked.
Mann nodded. “My people understand that I need to break my journey in Tiralien.”
“Do they? Are you certain?”
Mann lifted his gaze to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath. “Yes, I am certain. So that you know, my lady, I have a servant gifted in mimicry. He takes my place on the ship, in case the port officials show any curiosity about my doings. And while it is possible someone might miss your presence, my guards have made a point of riding between here and the ship to confuse matters further. In short, all is arranged, except your nerves. Once we have settled those, we are done.”
Later, she would laugh at his speech. And about her own difficult manner. This moment was too soon.
“My apologies. I should not question you.”
“You should question me,” he said. “But I forgive you nevertheless.”
He, too, seemed on the verge of laughter, but underneath she detected the same seriousness that had so surprised her back in Melnek. She cast her mind and memory back through the centuries, trying to remember another such soul who had offered such allegiance. She could not. Such a thing was possible, of course, but not easily explained.
“Very well,” she said. “Benno, what comes next?”
“We go,” he said. “Emma remains in hiding in Tiralien. If all goes wrong…” He drew a deep breath, the first mark of anxiety he had revealed this day. “If all goes wrong, she takes refuge with Lord Vieth. He has promised to send her and the rest of Lord Kosenmark’s associates to Valentain by ship or whatever means is possible.”
“And you?” Mann said. “Are you ready?”
For all her impatience, she wished she could give a reason for delay. She wanted to see the pleasure house once more, to touch its walls, to wander the rooftop gardens. Too late for that. Raul had shed this life as a snake might shed its skin. She would have to hunt him down in his new lair.
“I am,” she said. “Let us go.”
Mann called a runner and handed over his stack of papers. Once the door closed again, Iani collected them around a small table under the window. Outside, night was falling, and a salt breeze filtered into the room. As Iani explained, and Ilse knew, it was necessary for them to take hold of each other, to never relax their grip, or they would lose one another in the void between worlds.
“You have the skill to cross alone,” he said to Ilse, “but the danger is time.”
She knew. Time within the magical plane skipped and jumped and altered itself. She might lose days or months without an experienced guide such as Iani.
“And I would be lost forever,” Mann said. “I know. I am not entirely ignorant.”
He spoke with some asperity. Ilse wanted to smile. So he had not entirely misplaced his vanity. It was comforting, in a strange way. She took hold of her companions’ hands. Iani’s was lean, almost bare of flesh. Mann’s palm was roughened by calluses, another unexpected detail, since she clearly recalled his smooth skin from three years before, while dancing in Melnek.
Her thoughts returned to the present as Benno Iani began the invocation to the gods and magic. He spoke in a low, urgent voice, the syllables of the ancient language rising in a lilt and cadence so familiar and yet made alien through the passage of centuries.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter, ane Lir unde Toc. Komen uns de strôm. Versigelen uns. Niht ougen. Niht hœren…”
This, Ilse thought, was the work of a master mage. For one moment, the scent of magic overwhelmed her senses, drowning out the salt tang, the beeswax and incense, and all the other familiar clues that told her they sat in an expensive private room, in the coastal city of Tiralien. The next moment, the air turned dark, the breeze vanished, leaving them wrapped in a cocoon of nothingness before the strong scent of magic blossomed once more.
“En name Lir unde Toc, komen uns de zoubernisse. Lâzen uns diese wërlt…”
Her soul leapt—as though it were a physical thing—against the cage of her flesh. She felt Mann’s hand clasp hers more tightly. The air thickened, so thick she found it hard to draw a breath, and the magic strong enough that she could taste it.
And then, and then …
The world blinked into nothing.
She stood with her companions on a rim of brightness. Below their feet all the worlds of the universe spun, like multicolored threads of glass in an enormous invisible globe. Except she knew there was no depth or dimension to this plane. It was all her poor attempt to translate the magical to her human understanding.
Without releasing his hold on Ilse’s hand, Iani crouched down, as though seeking the signpost that would lead them back to their own world and Duenne. Ilse tried to follow his gaze. It was like searching for a single minnow in a flashing swarm. There, there was the inn at Tiralien. There, a silvery ribbon that could be the Solvatni River in Duszranjo. One, twice, the images froze. She recognized Melnek. Blinked and saw a vast expanse of golden dunes, stretching toward an alien horizon. Blinked again, and had to narrow her eyes against the whirling specks of color.
Next to her, Mann stared fixedly at the maelstrom below. His hand trembled, and she tightened her grip. “What is wrong?” she asked.
“I am afraid. I see … faces.”
“Close your eyes,” Ilse said quickly. “Those are monsters, liars.”
The worlds beneath them vanished. Clouds of smoke and ashes enveloped them. From a distance came the hiss of an enormous fire, and her skin drew tight. Her mouth felt parched from terror. She tried to remind herself this was another illusion, but she had read too many histories of magic. A mage could die in Anderswar, whether they came in flesh or spirit.
“Is this another lie?” Mann said. His voice was high and light. Ilse felt him tremble and she gripped his hand tighter.
“Anderswar lies,” she said. “But a lie can kill you here. If you believe it, that is.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Oh. So glad I would never—”
Light bloomed at their feet. Now Ilse could see a wall of flame surrounding them, bright gold and rippling like water flowing over stone. A burst of wind scented with burning wood and magic struck her in the face. She coughed, then nearly choked when the flames parted and a massive catlike creature made directly for them, ash and burning embers spinning in its wake.
Its color was as bright and golden as the flames. Its eyes were like twin white suns. Its tongue hung from its mouth, a rivulet of fire against a greater conflagration. Ilse gulped down a lungful of scorching air, and squeezed Mann’s and Iani’s hands even harder. Mann was shivering. Iani had gone unnervingly still.
The beast circled around them, once and twice. The third time it stopped before Mann. Its face shimmered and lengthened. Josef. My love. I had not expected you would ever come to me.
Mann flinched. “Mathis?” he whispered.
“What is it?” Ilse said. “What do you see?”
Mann didn’t answer. The beast arched its neck until its face hovered inches away from Mann’s. Mann tilted his head backward and stared, his eyes wide and blank, his lips stretched in an unconscious imitation of the beast’s grin.
Benno was cursing under his breath. Ilse shook Mann’s hand. She shouted in his ear. Nothing did any good. In fury and desperation, she drove her booted foot onto his instep. Mann recoiled from the beast with a muffled cry. Ilse yanked him to his knees and bent over him, her face between his and the monster’s. “Listen to me,” she said. “You see tricksers. Tricksters and liars. That is Anderswar. It lies. It wants to snare you with your own fears. Do not listen.”
“But I saw…”
You saw me, Josef. You saw the truth. If you go to Duenne, you will die.
Josef Mann sucked in his breath. He stared beyond Ilse as though he looked directly into the monster’s eyes. Then he shook his head, assayed a smile that was a faint echo of his usual self. “Then I die,” he said. “I will someday, no matter what. Begone, monster and liar.”
The golden flames vanished. Once more they stood upon the edge of the universe. Mann glanced downward, as though he might still make a fatal leap. But when Ilse pressed her hand within his, he smiled once more. To Benno Iani, he said, “Do we go on? Or shall we hold a dance and conversation with more demons?”
“No need to delay,” Benno Iani said. “I have found our destination.”
He spoke a phrase in Erythandran. Light and shadow transposed themselves around them. Another bursting bloom of magic, another sudden shift in perception, and they were falling down and down and down, through a maelstrom of shrieks and brilliant, sickening colors. She had a moment of unrestrained panic. Heard screams, her own, Josef Mann’s, and even Benno Iani’s …
As always, the transition came abruptly. One moment they plunged through the void. The next, Ilse lay sprawled on a cold dank expanse of stone. Her stomach heaved. Her heartbeat echoed inside her skull. At first she could take in nothing except the hard stones beneath her. She might have landed atop a mountain, or in a city on the far side of the continent, or even in a world in another universe. She could not tell. But no, she recognized the scents of cardamom and ginger, of wood smoke from oak and pine, and then the thread of song from a distant window, the words unmistakably Veraenen.
With shaking limbs, she drew herself to sitting. Tipped back her head to see the stars she knew from childhood. The moon was the same quarter moon she had left behind in Tiralien, grown only a shade brighter and larger.
They had come to a small courtyard, bounded by tall brick walls, a gate at each end. Not a country village courtyard, she guessed. This place belonged to some grand inn. A wind drifted through, carrying with it the smell of horse and grass and plains from everlasting, of a city buried in land, no seas within a ride’s distance.
Next to her, a man wept.
Still unsteady, she crawled to the man’s side. It was Josef Mann. He huddled over himself, and his rough sobs echoed from the walls. When she touched his shoulder, his head jerked up and he stared at her wide-eyed.
“It’s me,” she said softly. “Ilse Zhalina.”
“I … I know you.”
His voice was hoarse, his words barely intelligible.
“Who was that, Josef? The one you called Mathis?”
A shudder ran through his body.
“My brother. He died of a fever. Ten years ago. I was never meant to be the heir.”
He broke into weeping again. Ilse held him close as he rocked back and forth. She glanced around the courtyard. No sign of Iani. Had he mistaken their goal? Did he wander through the void even now? Even as all the possibilities tumbled through her mind, she held on to Josef Mann and whispered words of comfort.
And then …
The darkness rippled. A strong scent of magic rolled through the air. Then came a movement nearby, and a shadow rose from the ground. Iani. Benno Iani awake and eager, as she had never known the man.
She waited until he staggered upright, caught himself, and stared upward at the moon and stars. “Where are we?” she demanded.
Iani started at her voice. Then he grinned down at her with far too much cheer. “In Duenne,” he replied. “And in good time. No more than a day or two lost. Come, we must hurry to the duke’s household.”
“Can you?” Ilse asked Mann.
He shook his head, but then drew himself together. “I can. It was just…”
Just a moment confronting your terrors, Ilse thought. “Tell me later if you like,” she said. “We will not either of us die before then.”
She helped him to his feet. Benno took them from the courtyard into the next main street. There he paused, uncertain. “I do not know this quarter.”
Mann did, however—another surprise to Ilse, who had not expected him to be so familiar with parts outside the grand palace or its immediate environs. Evidently he had recovered from his distress, or postponed it to a later, more convenient hour. With a gesture, he took the lead and guided them through a maze of streets and alleys, to a wide boulevard. Ilse had no more than a moment to take in the sight of the palace, far to the southeast, its towers and walls illuminated so that it appeared a great golden crown against the deepening twilight. Then Mann took hold of her wrist and dragged her down another dark street, with houses leaning together overhead. She heard a flute whispering, the buzz of voices speaking in unfamiliar dialects, then they were running down a tunnel smothered in darkness.
One, two, a dozen intersections passed, and several dozen turns taken, so many that Ilse could not keep count. Then, unexpectedly, they fetched up beside a blank, stone wall.
Ilse stopped and tilted her head back. Far above, starlight edged a high, domed roof. The lower stories were as blank as the outer wall, but just under the gutters and waterspouts ran a row of brightly lit windows. She loosed a long-held breath, drew another and caught the rich mélange of incense and magic that enveloped the grounds. The duke, or his mages, had laid numerous spells to protect this house.
