Sword of Shadows Read online

  Adiana gave a mock cry of protest and struck Renate playfully on the shoulder. “How dare you! One does not have to be a maga to see into the hearts of men. I learned a few things working the taverns in Selkynsen, you know. I can read a man as surely as Eolyn reads her books.”

  “As surely as Eolyn reads her books in bed,” Renate replied in crisp tones.

  Adiana flopped back on the blanket with an indignant harrumph. They had settled in the courtyard for an evening of wine and companionship, after having tucked the girls into bed. Days had passed since Eolyn departed for the South Woods, and the week would likely see its end before she returned.

  “And you accuse me of inventing stories and gossip!” Adiana complained. “Even if I had ‘read Borten in bed’, what would it matter? The magas always had untamed teachings with respect to that sort of thing. Isn’t aen-lasati the source of a woman’s greatest magic? I swear to the Gods, Renate, sometimes you seem too much of a prude to be a maga.”

  A prude. Renate rolled the word over her tongue as she swirled her wine. Yes, that’s what she was. Tight inside, dry as autumn leaves underfoot. Forever bound by the failures and disillusions of her past. “The Magas of the Old Orders were disciplined women, not harlots at a summer festival. To lay claim to their understanding of aen-lasati while ignoring all their other teachings does their memory a disservice. It’s precisely that sort of myth that led us to the pyres in the first place.”

  “Oh, Renate.” Adiana groaned and reached for the wine skin. “Why must you take everything so seriously? It’s finished, remember? The war, the purges, the rebellion, the prohibition. We’re free now. The magas have been restored to their rightful place in Moisehén. We’ve got a proper Aekelahr, aspiring young magas, the protection of the Mage King, and a nice little regiment of handsome guards. Even you could have some fun, you know.”

  The thought of her tired old body wrapped around one of the King’s men made Renate giggle until the giddiness shook her ribs and broke upon her lips.

  “That’s the spirit!” Adiana said. “Here, have some more wine. And tell me, which one of the guards do you like the most?”

  “Oh, for the love of the Gods, Adiana!” Renate was laughing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am an old woman.”

  “Age is meaningless for a true maga. That’s what Eolyn says.” Adiana rested her head on Renate’s shoulder.

  The older woman returned her warm embrace, inhaling the sweet smells of night mingled with Adiana’s vibrant aroma, of primrose and summer winds, of the riverside city that had once been her home. She envied her friend in that moment, not so much for her youth and beauty, but for her continued faith in the possibility that anything could be finished.

  Someday time and experience will break that faith.

  Desire and loss, terror and death, treachery and abandonment, all of it stayed with a person until the end of her days, animating the shadows at night, invading dreams, stealing away tranquility in the lonely hours before dawn.

  Adiana sighed and lifted her cup to the sky. “I love this moment, when the wine makes the stars shine brighter than ever. Gods bless the vineyards of Selkynsen! Look at the fir, Renate. See how it dances in the torch light?”

  Was the young tree dancing, Renate wondered, or trembling with knowledge of some hardship yet to come?

  “This is but a momentary truce with the Gods,” the maga murmured. “Three years they have left us in peace; it cannot last much longer.”

  “Hah! There you go again.” Adiana took Renate’s hand in hers. “What’s wrong, Renate? Are you having bad dreams?”

  Renate bit her lip and looked away, took another sip from her cup. “Last night I was in the wastes of the dead. The magas came after me with clawed hands and hateful screams.”

  “Gods, that’s awful!” Adiana withdrew from their embrace and studied Renate in the dark. “You burden yourself with far too much, dear friend. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

  “It was my fault, Adiana.” There was no sadness in Renate’s voice, only the cold acknowledgment of truth. “I could blame my youth or my fear and innocence. I could say circumstances went beyond my control, but I would only be hiding inside my own myth. I made my choices. I understood their consequences, and many of my sisters burned because of it.”

  Adiana sent a slow whistle through her teeth. “You’ve never said it quite like that before.”

  Renate shrugged and looked away.

  “Does Eolyn know how you feel?”

  “She thinks the Gods have a different way of judging our transgressions, that they interpret our acts across a grander expanse of time and consequence.” Renate shivered at the memory of Eolyn’s words. “She believes I survived then in order to serve a greater purpose now.”

  “Well, she’s right, isn’t she? You’re here after all, helping to rebuild the legacy of the magas. I bet all your dead sisters are happy about that.”

  Renate frowned. How to explain to Adiana that this would not be enough? Dragon was waiting to exact a greater payment, a harsher sacrifice. The old maga had left everything behind and followed Eolyn to Moehn in anticipation of this.

  “Do you know what I dream about, Renate?” Adiana’s voice became bright again, washing the away the shadows of doom, as was her gift. “The Circle. Now those are good dreams, about singing with Rishona, making music with Nathan and Kahlil after the show. I miss those times, all our friends from those far-flung kingdoms, travelling from one end of Moisehén to the other.”

  Renate gave a short, mocking laugh. “Corey had us on a knife’s edge with that show of his. Not a day passed when I didn’t think the next magistrate would throw us all on the pyre.”

  “But we laughed about it didn’t we? And we created like happy fools. So much defiance in our art! So much beauty. Do you think Corey will ever organize something like that again?”

  “I don’t know.” Renate had cared deeply for Corey. She might have loved him once, had she not been such an old crone and he such a young fool. “He might. But I don’t think it would be the same, if he did.”

  “No, I suppose not. I used to think Corey would be the perfect match for Eolyn.”

  “Corey and Eolyn?” Renate arched her brow. “Adiana, you have many gifts, but matchmaking is not one of them.”

  “What would have been so wrong about that? He is a mage, and she is a maga.”

  “Corey is a vine growing in the dark. Eolyn is a flower open to the sun.”

  “So he turned out to be a treacherous bastard.” Adiana shrugged. “None of us saw that coming back then.”

  “I thought you could read a man like a book.”

  “I can tell if a man’s a considerate lover. It’s much harder picking out the treacherous bastards.”

  “Corey was not so bad,” Renate said. “He only did what he thought he had to do.”

  “Well, she’ll never trust him again, not after the way he betrayed her brother.”

  The sound of heavy footfalls distracted them from their conversation. One of the men approached, torch in hand.

  “Maga Renate,” he said, “Mistress Adiana. Sir Malrec requests that you meet him at the north wall at once.”

  Something in the man’s tone extinguished the heat of the wine. Renate’s bones creaked as she rose to her feet, and she gripped Adiana’s hand for help. They fastened their cloaks and followed the soldier between the stone buildings, across the gardens. Crickets and frogs filled the silence with insistent song. The nervous whinny of horses drifted from the stable.

  When they approached the half-built wall, their escort brought the torch low. Malrec greeted them in subdued tones and beckoned them to his side.

  “There toward the north.” He indicated with a nod.

  Renate peered over the half-finished wall. In the distance, she spotted a luminous mist that wavered, faded then flared again. A memory stirred inside her, nebulous in form, as if she had lived this moment before though she could not quit
e capture when.

  “What is it?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Fire,” he replied. “The fields around Moehn are burning. Or worse, the town itself.”

  “We must go to them.” Renate gripped Adiana’s arm. “We’ll need marigold, yellow carowort, and fire-of-aethne, among other herbs and ointments. Come with me to the herbarium, Adiana. Malrec, see the horses are readied at once.”

  “No.” The finality of his response caught Renate off guard.

  “No?” she replied. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I have readied the horses, but not to take you to Moehn. At least, not until we have some idea of what is happening there.”

  “Are you mad? We can see what is happening. Those people are suffering! As a maga, I am sworn to help them.”

  “As a Knight of Vortingen, I am sworn to protect you. You and Mistress Adiana are not to depart until I give you leave to do so. I have sent a scout to assess the situation. We should have word from him within the hour.”

  “I will not sit here a prisoner in my own home while people’s lives are in danger.”

  “The town may be under attack.”

  “Moehn under siege?” Renate threw up her hands in disbelief. “Oh, for Gods’ sake. Who would attack Moehn? Some drunken imbecile kicked over a lantern, or a torch fell from its rusted sconce.”

  “We cannot be certain of that.”

  A shout from one of the men perched on the wall silenced them both. All eyes turned north once again. The night went still. The crickets stopped singing. Renate scanned the darkness. She could hear Malrec’s breath, low and steady. A charge filled the air, as if lightning were poised to rip through the starry heavens.

  “What is it?” she whispered. “What did they see?”

  Malrec hushed her, raising one hand as he searched the obscure terrain.

  Once, a lifetime ago, Renate had been a High Maga, and she could change into an owl and see the night world with clarity. But she had long since abandoned those powers, and now the hills so familiar by daylight were amorphous, the distances impossible to judge.

  Was that movement she saw along the nearby ridge? A lynx, perhaps, taking advantage of the moonless night to scurry across open fields. But then a flame ignited in its wake, followed by a discontinuous arc of light that spread point by point over the low hill, like a line of small torches. On sudden impulse, the string of flames rose high into the air, slowed against the ebony firmament, then fell toward the school in a hissing rain of fire.

  Malrec took hold of Renate and crushed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her as the arrows fell behind them. Some embedded in the earth, others landed on nearby roofs, igniting the thatch in an instant.

  “The children!” Adiana cried. She tore away from the soldier who had shielded her and disappeared into the flickering shadows.

  Renate moved to follow, but Malrec caught her by the arm and yanked her back.

  “The horses are ready,” he said. She had never seen his face so close, so vivid. The rounded cheeks, the rough curls of his beard, the fine spittle that rode on his rapid words. “Take them and head south. Do not look back, do not stop, until you reach the forest. Three of the men will accompany you. Go!”

  He shoved her away. Renate’s feet moved of their own volition, carrying her toward the girls’ room even as a second volley of flames descended from the heavens.

  Behind her raged the shouts of desperate men, followed by the ring of metal upon metal and sudden cries of anguish. Already the assailants were topping the half-finished wall.

  Her truce with the Gods had ended, suddenly and without warning, as was their pleasure.

  Adiana was ushering the girls out of their room, bleary eyed and confused, with summer cloaks thrown over their nightshifts. The soldiers met them with five steeds. One of the men hauled Catarina up to ride with him, Adiana mounted with Tasha, and Ghemena was given to Renate. As they turned the horses toward the south gate, Renate caught site of Eolyn’s study. The roof was ablaze with golden flames, bright as the sun come to earth.

  “The annals,” she cried and spurred her horse toward the fire.

  The animal whinnied and pulled back before they reached the building. Leaving the reins with Ghemena, Renate dropped to the ground. Ignoring the shock of pain in her legs, she raced to the study and burst through the door. Smoke lodged in her throat and stung her eyes. The room itself was not yet aflame, but the roof roared and burning ash fluttered on the air like black snow.

  Renate blinked back tears. Was this what her sisters had seen, as the flames rose up around them? The world aglow with scalding heat, the cold realm of the dead their only promise of escape.

  Shaking the image from her mind, she spotted the books on the corner shelves. She threw her cloak down in front of them and piled all the volumes she could before tying the corners into a makeshift sack and dragging it back to the entrance. By the time she emerged from the study, every muscle in her body ached.

  “For the love of the Gods, old woman!” One of the men scolded. “You kept us waiting for this?”

  “The horses will never run with such a load on their backs,” another objected.

  “We cannot leave this behind! It is all that is left of our heritage.” Renate looked from one man to another, and finding no sympathy in their faces, turned to her friend. “Adiana, please! Help me.”

  After a moment of hesitation, the young woman dismounted and removed her cloak. They divided the tomes between the two of them. Renate heaved her burden into Ghemena’s arms and bade the child to hold it tight. Then she swung herself up behind the girl and spurred the horse into a canter.

  In moments they were through the south entrance and racing over open fields, hooves pounding against the earth. The horses snorted and drew labored breaths, straining under their loads. Renate leaned forward, molding her body to Ghemena’s back, eyes focused on the black hills ahead.

  “Help me, Ghemena. Speak to the horse.” she urged as the girl’s fine hair whipped in her face. “Tell it to run faster!”

  “I’m trying!” The child’s voice was desperate, panicked.

  The horse to their right whinnied and reared. Metal clashed against metal. Taunts of men in battle overtook their flight. Attackers closed in on both sides, swords drawn and tipped with blue flames. One assailant met the guard ahead of them, his blade a glowing arc. The animal screamed, and the guard was unhorsed.

  Panicked, Renate reined in her own steed to avoid riding into the fray. To her left, Adiana and Tasha slipped toward the shadows at full gallop.

  Digging her heels into the flanks of her mount, Renate veered in the opposite direction, heading away from the melee. Only when the cries and whinnies began to fade did Renate realize in horror that Catarina had been left behind. The girl was riding with one of the guards, and all of the men were engaged with their pursuers.

  Renate halted their flight and looked behind, uncertain whether to risk returning.

  A rider emerged from the shadows, carried upon an ominous melody of hooves and mail. His blow was blunt and brutal, tearing Renate off the horse.

  Pain shot through her ribs and shoulders as Renate hit the ground. She staggered to her feet, head spinning. Ghemena also toppled with a sharp cry, the books tumbling out of her embrace and scattering over the earth.

  “Come, child!” Renate reached toward the girl, but a horse stepped between them, tall and heavy, restless upon the earth. The rider’s face was hidden by the night, his sword a shaft of cobalt flame. Before Renate could think to run, another man appeared behind her, chest to her back, knife at her throat.

  “Let the child go,” she said. “I beg you.”

  If they heard, they gave no indication. Renate was shoved in the direction from which they came, and Ghemena dragged kicking and screaming after her.

  They were taken to a circle lit by torches. There, Adiana stood ashen-faced with Catarina and Tasha clinging to her skirts. The Kin
g’s knights were nowhere to be seen. Renate’s throat was released from the bite of her captor’s blade. She straightened her shoulders and walked with deliberate calm to Adiana’s side. Ghemena was thrown at their feet with such force the girl’s enraged cries were silenced. Renate helped Ghemena up, wiped tears of anger from her cheeks, and took tight hold of her hand.

  Men-at-arms surrounded them—too many, it seemed, for raiding a school and capturing a handful of women and children. The colors they wore were indiscernible in the dark. Swords were drawn and trained upon them, bolts cocked at close range. The pungent scent of sulfur hung in the air, coupled with an odor of sweet spices that tugged at Renate’s memory.

  One of the men stepped forward. His long nose, straight brow and chiseled features reminded Renate of Tahmir, the Syrnte prince who had collaborated in Ernan’s rebellion.

  “Which one of you is Maga Eolyn?”

  Renate pursed her lips. Catarina and Tasha whimpered, wrapping their arms tighter around Adiana’s waist.

  “Which one is the maga? Speak now, or all will die.”

  A cold stillness settled in Renate’s stomach, a deep awareness that her fate had arrived. She looked down at her hands and noticed how aged they had become, papery skin stretched over brittle bones and dark veins.

  Ghemena broke away from her grip sprang forward. “She’s not here, you fool! If she were, you’d all be turned into toads by now.”

  “Hold your tongue, child!” Renate scolded. “Or these men may well cut it out.”

  Ghemena drew a breath to respond, but upon seeing Renate’s severe expression, she bit her lip and lowered her chin.

  Renate smoothed her skirt and drew a deep breath. She caught Adiana’s gaze, noting the terror and uncertainty in the young woman’s eyes, and gave her a reassuring smile. Then she lifted her chin and announced, “I am Maga Eolyn.”

  Adiana gasped. “What are you doing?”

  Renate stepped forward, speaking quickly. “I am the one you seek. This woman is my scullery maid, the girls her helpers. Let them go. They are worth nothing to you.”

  She was but a couple paces from the soldier now, and could see the harsh lines of his face, the cruel intensity of his eyes. A satisfied smile touched his full lips. He gave a nod of respect. “Maga Eolyn. The San’iloman will be pleased.”