Roar, page 27
“So what do you think of Yessamine?” Camille changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the pain of their lives. It wasn’t as if they could do anything about it.
“It's amazing!” Elspeth's face suddenly brightened. “I mean we came up this long shallow hill and I saw this building and thought it was impressive. But then it just kept getting bigger. Longer and wider. And everywhere we went it just kept going on.” She shook her head in wonderment. “How can a building be so big? Or so mixed up? Roads made of wooden boards? Plants growing from walls? And how can it have an outside dining hall inside it?”
“I know! And actually it has several!” Camille started telling her all about some of the other wondrous things she'd seen in this place while they waited for Mara to return. Which it turned out took a while. As quick and agile as Mara was, there was a queue. But then these dining halls were frequented by all the staff and students of the nearby buildings, and they all seemed to want to eat at the same time. Still, she eventually returned with a couple of bowls of soup and some bread for herself and Elspeth and they sat down to eat their lunch with her.
It was good to finally have people she knew to eat with. In this place she still didn't know anyone except for her aunt and Potaine. And neither the Oracle nor her aunt were around very much, apparently spending much of their time preparing for this coming war.
Except that according to the gossip flying around the halls the war had been put on hold for a while thanks to the wizard lion and his new spell. The sphinx as some were now openly calling him. Their great magical champion. Camille didn't want to think about Thorm, let alone talk about him. Ever! But unfortunately no one else here felt the same. Even as the girls ate their meal, Camille could hear some of the wizards at a nearby table began babbling excitedly about when they'd learn Thorm's war spell. They even called it his spell as if he somehow owned it. Camille cringed at the very name. But at least this time, she wasn't the one to complain.
“Praise the Sisters, I wish they'd stop talking about him!” Mara complained as she heard the conversation around them. “Everywhere I go it's Thorm this and Thorm that. It's like they don't know what a piss pot he is!”
“Maybe. But he killed the trolls,” Elspeth countered. “I hate trolls! And he freed us.”
“Huh!” Mara retorted. “It's all lies! He's a liar! Ungrateful too. I gave him everything and he threw me away like rubbish! I thought he loved me! He swore every day that he did. That he saw Galena in my eyes and felt the Goddess in his heart. And then he threw me away! I'll wager a thousand castles that this is all some sort of trick!”
Camille couldn’t help but notice that in Mara’s version of event she left out the fact that she had lain with Lord Aston – a truly awful creature and probably the one man Camille despised more than the wizard lion. That was probably the one thing even the purest disciple of Sister Galena could not overlook. But she said nothing. She knew that Mara wouldn't take it well. She was a prickly sort. Fortunately they were of the same mind when it came to the wizard lion, if for different reasons.
“I hate him too! He hurt my mother and nothing he can ever do will change that.”
“I thought the Oracle said it was an accident? That the store blew up?” Elspeth argued. “Not that I trust him,” Elspeth hurriedly tacked on the last when she saw Camille’s expresion. “Those strange green eyes and his teeth! And what about his roar?” She shuddered a little. “I don't know if there really is a man inside that creature. Just a beast with a few memories.”
“Lies you mean!” Mara interrupted.
“Maybe. I don't know. But he seems to be doing some good. I just don't know why.” Elspeth took a spoonful of her soup. “He scares me – whatever he is.”
“He should!” Mara told her. “You can't trust him! Just thinking about him makes me ill!”
“But you cared for him,” Camille said, suddenly curious. “You were close. And you really didn't know he was a wizard?”
“No. He hid it well. And I still don't know what he is. I also don't know what happened with your mother either.” She nodded at Camille. “But I know what happened after the explosion.”
“After?” Camille was suddenly all ears. She hadn't heard about anything happening afterward. But she'd forgotten that Mara had been there in the store at the time.
“I'm not sure exactly. But it was after the hag –,” she abruptly looked away as she thought about her words, “– I mean after your mother came rushing in and cast some sort of spell that smashed half the store apart. I was thrown out of the store by the explosion. Tossed right through the front window. And everybody was knocked down. At that point I decided to run.”
“But even as I did so I saw fire. It was in the air and moving just like that whirlwind that appeared when he and your aunt fought. People stood and stared. I did too. And then everything fell apart. The whole block exploded.”
“Shite!” And there was the proof, Camille realised! It had been the bastard who had cast the spell that had injured her mother! And just when she had been starting to believe it might all have been some sort of accident! Now though she knew he'd lied. Because she knew he had cast the whirlwind spell when Thorm and her aunt had fought. Matilde had told her that. And while it was possible that Thorm had cast it without thinking about the gun powder in the store, it was his actions that had led to his mother’s injuries. He really was the liar Mara claimed.
By the Seven Sisters how she hated him just then! Not only for what he'd done, but for lying about it. Maybe she could have found some forgiveness in her heart if he'd just told the truth. If he'd admitted to his crime and apologised. But he hadn't. He'd lied. And the vile toad was going to keep on lying. Her aunt had been right about him from the beginning.
But there was nothing that she could do about it. He was in the Eternal City, apparently waging war on the Eternal King, and being proclaimed everywhere to be a hero. He was also a powerful wizard. Powerful enough that he could strike her down like a bug if he wanted to. And she was stuck here. Alone and powerless. Forbidden from even leaving Strongheart.
By the end of this war, she guessed, he would be described as the hero of the war. People would practically be worshipping him and her mother would be forgotten. At best just a tragic victim of his war. More likely she would be pilloried as one of the Eternal King's henchmen that he had stopped. No one would know or care that her actions had always been controlled. That she had no choice. It was just wrong! It couldn't be permitted!
“Are you alright?” Elspeth abruptly asked, concern in her voice.
“I'm fine.” Camille did her best to smile at her friend. “It's just … I hate this conversation. Can we talk about something else please?”
But really the only thing she wanted to do then was to slip away from her friends and think about ways she could strike back at the wizard lion. A way to make him pay for what he'd done. Any way. Or at least to admit the damned truth. But what could someone with no magic do against such a powerful wizard? Nothing.
Unless, it suddenly occurred to her, she could strike at him where he was actually vulnerable. In a place where his magic would not help him. And where she could use the magic of others to help her. The dream weavers had proven completely useless at finding her mother. But maybe they could do better with the wizard lion?
Chapter Twenty Seven
What a difference a week made. Four days hadn't been enough. But a full seven days of rain had completed what those first four days had barely begun. It had disarmed the soldiers. It had also removed half the roofs from the city as the nails holding the tiles and slates in place had given way. Now they were piled up around the sides of the buildings they had once covered. It had turned the streets to mud, caused a few buildings to collapse completely, and rusted every metal fitting there was. Brass and copper had survived. Everything else had turned rusty red and either broken or stopped working.
Wagons squeaked if they moved at all. Those gates still standing squeaked badly, though many had come completely off their hinges. Horses were throwing shoes all over the roads as the nails had rusted through. Street signs hung crookedly – those that hadn't fallen down – and none of the lamp posts still worked. Everywhere he looked the city was coming apart at the seams.
But Thorn felt these consequences were acceptable given that the storm he had delivered had meant there was unlikely to be a single weapon still working. Not their rifles and certainly not their blades – not when Thorm could see that the ones the soldiers were carrying all had a rusty red sheen over them. Part of that was the Eternal King's own fault. He shouldn't have equipped his soldiers with such cheap weapons. Poor steel rusted. It was as simple as that. And the soldiers clearly didn't care for them properly. They either hadn't been trained or else couldn't be bothered. The cannons – at least the cast iron ones – and cannon balls also wore a similar red sheen; he doubted they would be able to used again any time soon – if at all. Half the soldiers' uniforms no longer even had buttons. It turned out that while they might be polished brass on the outside, they were rusty iron underneath.
He was perversely pleased by that. Especially when he saw soldiers struggling through the muddy streets with their jackets hanging open and carrying their rusted rifles. They looked like anything but a well-disciplined fighting force.
The Eternal King undoubtedly knew what had happened by now. He'd surely guessed there was magic involved as the rain refused to let up. But it seemed there had been nothing he could do to prevent the damage, which got worse with every day that passed. And while he didn't know what things were like on the other side of the wall in the Palace of the Sun, the rain had fallen there too. Thorm could only assume that it was just the same.
The unexpected thing was that as bad as his week of rain had been for the city above, it had been good for the sewers. All that rain had turned them into fast flowing rivers racing through the darkness, and had washed the sewers clean. For the first time that he could remember they no longer stank. But in places the water had washed away the walkways as well as the shite, and in a couple of places the entire sewer had collapsed and there were craters in the city. But then as Pristia's followers claimed, even the most biting wind carried some warmth. Even the sweetest plum a little bitterness.
None of that mattered though. The city might be in tatters, but all he cared about was that the soldiers were disarmed and no innocents had been killed. That and the fact that he was warm, dry and comfortable. That he was safe in his hideaway. And he had a full belly.
Unfortunately it seemed that not all of the King’s enemies were happy with his actions. He realised that when he felt himself arrive in that familiar half dreaming state and guessed he was about to be visited again.
“Oracle.” He greeted her tiredly, wondering why she had come. They had spoken only a couple of days before and he had told her exactly what he was doing. But as he waited for her to speak and she didn’t, an odd thought occurred to him.
“You're not the Oracle.” He couldn't see in the dream but his visitor didn't feel like the Oracle.
“No.” A woman answered from the darkness. “I'm not.”
“But you are someone I know. I recognise your voice.” Still, he couldn't quite place it.
“Good. You should know those who you've harmed! You should know them for the rest of your life! And in your death.”
“Camille?” Her accusation was enough for him to finally realise who was addressing him. There were only a couple of people who hated him that greatly.
“As I told the Oracle; I did not harm your mother. Speak to Potaine Arrowlight, Atana's servant. She is able to tell truth from lies and will be able to attest that what I say is true. Ask her.” Unfortunately he suspected that she already had. Camille just didn't want to believe her. Anger heard what it wanted to hear.
“She's not here!” Camille answered him angrily. “But I have heard her confirm what you say and I don't believe her. You lied!”
Thorm sighed. He guessed she needed to hear what had happened from him directly. But he also guessed that his telling her would do no good. Still she had a right to hear the tale first hand.
“Well then, I'll tell you what happened, just as I told Potaine. And you can choose to believe me or not. But know that my hands are clean of blood on that.” He doubted she would believe him. She needed someone to blame. Someone to direct her anger and hate to. It was easier.
“I was in my store when Mara came in. Shortly after that that miserable creature Aston followed. It was then that I learned of Mara's betrayal. But even as I was reeling from that the witch hunter came in, pointed her bony finger at me and screamed “witch”. A moment later your mother came running in and I was blown through the back wall of my shop.”
“I tried to protect myself after that, raising what defences I could as I lay there. But I couldn't. Her power was immense. My protections were nothing against her. Her power drove into me three or four times. I felt it burning my skin and breaking my bones. And soon I felt it changing me. Then the first explosion hit. At that point I was lying in the back room of my store, screaming in agony. Her fire had ignited the gunpowder in the store. I crawled down into my basement as a second, much larger explosion tore everything apart.”
“When I woke up, I was like this. That is all I know.”
“Lies! Blaggard!” Camille yelled at him. “You cast the fire!”
“Cast fire? No! Ask Mara. She was there. She was in the front of the store with the others. I was in the back, lying on the floor after that first blast. She must have seen the start of the attack at least. Before she ran.”
A thought unexpectedly struck him. When exactly had she run? And how had she escaped? It was a strange thought. He hadn't considered it until just then. But he suddenly realised that Mara must have run. Early and fast. Not that he could blame her for that. But everyone else had been either hurt or killed. The hag had been badly injured. Lord Aston too. The witch hunter had been killed. And the soldiers had either been killed or injured. And yet Mara had escaped completely uninjured. She had to have run very fast indeed. How? It was strange that in the last three years he'd never thought about that. Was it significant? He didn't know. But somehow he thought it might be.
“I did ask her! She said she was there until the spell you cast hurled her out of the store. But she did see your spell!”
“My spell?! No! I didn't cast anything! I couldn't. And she was still there until the first explosion. I heard her!”
Why hadn't he thought about that before he wondered? Because she had to have been in the store until nearly the very end. She couldn't have had time to run. Though how that could be true and yet she'd escaped unscathed he couldn’t understand. Unless his memories were scrambled up – which wasn't impossible. “Actually, I think you should tell that to the Oracle when you next see her. Suggest to her that she speak to Mara. I don't know why, but I think it's important.”
“But I don't.” Camille's tone suddenly changed. “I think you're lying! That you'll say anything to avoid the truth.”
“I'm not.” But he guessed she wasn't going to believe him. He could hear the anger in her voice. Almost feel the pain. And he supposed he could even understand it. It was after all her mother who had been hurt. “I'm sorry for your pain, but I did not hurt your mother.”
“Blaggard!” She accused him. “But your lies won't save you.”
Thorm would have asked what she meant but just at that moment he felt something sharp and cold tear into his skull. An icicle. It felt so cold that it felt like it was burning him, right in the centre of his head. Thorm screamed, overwhelmed by the pain.
“I have no magic at all. No gift. Nothing. The only way I can even speak to you through this dream is thanks to a dream weaver I hired, and some training.”
Thorm couldn't focus on what she was saying; his mind was consumed by agony. The pain in his head was so great that it felt like whatever she was using to tear his skull apart from the inside was somehow growing. He was sure that if she kept at it for much longer his eyes would soon pop out of their sockets. She was cracking his skull apart from the inside. Twisting the burning ice blade inside his head. It was unbearable. He kept screaming. Unable to think of anything but the agony. Unable to see anything but pain.
“But one thing my mother did teach me was the dream strike. It’s a way a person can reach out in the Great Dream and kill their enemies.
“It's fairly simple,” she continued matter-of-factly. “I take the poison and then I deliver it to you through the Great Dream. What you're feeling now are the effects of a dozen different toadstools – all of them deadly. The worst possible poisons I could find. A true witches’ brew that will take the lives of those who sip from it.”
