Dangerous Games (31 page)

“Sire,” interjected Candlemas loudly, giving the archwizard’s elbow a small shake. “It wouldn’t be mete for you to pursue such a path yourself. For one thing, it might be dangerous, and nothing must endanger the life of Karsus the All High. Rather, sire, I suggest you assign someone—me, perhaps, who’s already moved through time once—to perform the task. I’d see you got all the credit, for I live to serve only your greatness. So, if you tell me the secret time travel spell you so cleverly employed …”

Flattery, fast talk, simple, twisted logic, and a conspiratorial tone all worked. Within minutes, Karsus was gabbling about how he’d imagined the fallen star and twitched his fingers to summon it. From there, Candlemas led him to the hypothetical reversal of the spell: how to send something or someone back, to that same spot.

Candlemas’s brain whirled with spells, cantras, lists of potential materials, and the overall weirdness that was Karsus. The combined spells he’d outlined seemed just too illogical to work. Candlemas had pried and prodded, desperate to grasp every nuance, but Karsus grew bored, wanted to move on to the next subject.

Candlemas mentally shrugged. He’d tried his best to retain it all, but would have to experiment, muddle through. He was about to beg his leave to get started when Karsus caught his elbow.

“I must tell you, dear Carpalmen, that you’re a clever fellow, but a mere birdbrain compared to He Who Knows Everything and Tells Naught.”

“He Who—?”

“Me!” Karsus beamed. “Because what you’ve outlined is fine, but I’ve conceived a true ultimate weapon!”

Candlemas felt faint and cold, as if all his blood had run out his feet. Pockall’s Hex, what now? Calm as possible, he asked the source of this ultimate weapon.

“Myself!” Karsus cried and slapped his chest, giggling so hard he almost fell over. “Myself! Us, Great Karsus! I’ll turn myself into a weapon! That’s the secret project I’ve been working on. Think, Niselmutt! What’s the greatest living thing in all the empire? Me, of course! And what’s the most potent magical source in the empire? My super heavy magic! So it’s logical—though only I could think of it—to combine them!”

Candlemas couldn’t even squeak, so frozen was he.

“I, we, Karsus the One and Only, intend to infuse ourselves with super heavy magic! If I were to eat some while, say, bathing in it, or just—I don’t know—pour a ton of it over my head, who knows what power I might attain! With the power of the stars in me, I might become a god!”

At that notion, Karsus fell over laughing, hugging himself and crying hysterically with glee.

But Candlemas wasn’t there to pick him up. The pudgy mage was already running through the corridors as fast as his tight boots would allow.

He had to fetch Sita. And Sunbright. And figure out this time travel spell.

And get the hell out of this city!

Back in his tiny workshop, frantic and fumbling, Candlemas burned the sun-blond lock of Sunbright’s hair. His hand shook so badly he singed his fingers in the flame, but it would alert the barbarian that he needed help, desperately. Candlemas was going to need all the help he could summon.

And for now, he had to gather supplies, even steal them from other mages. There wasn’t a second to lose.

Except that he must send word to Aquesita.

Riding the winds with the residual nature magic, Sunbright and Knucklebones soared toward the floating city.

Her knuckles were white as she clung to Sunbright’s baldric and belt. Even though she was barefoot, she squinched her toes in reflex, for there was nothing under them for a mile or more. The ground was a misty yellow-brown patchwork, mountains only soft blue mounds. She’d never been more terrified.

By contrast, Sunbright’s face was placid as an angel’s. His horsetail stood out behind, his green eyes were bright, and his nose quivered like a hunting hound’s as he watched the floating city of Karsus come closer. He even smiled at his accomplishment. Strangely, he wasn’t worried. But then, he’d been dead, or near it, and life still seemed unreal to him, as if he still dreamwalked.

“W-we won’t be fl-flying often, w-will we?” asked the thief.

Sunbright actually laughed, “I’m afraid not. The nature magic in me is almost spent. This will probably be the last time I ever fly, though shamans fly in their dreams. For this, I thought of how geese move and mimicked them, but I’m not sure exactly how I do it, to tell the truth.”

Knucklebones wasn’t encouraged, and clung tight as a tick to his iron frame. She wanted to squeeze her eye shut, but didn’t dare to for fear of missing something. She bleated, “When we took off in the glider, Candlemas said the city was warded against people shifting in. Will that stop us from flying in?” Most specifically, just when we reach the edge of the city? she worried.

“I don’t think so,” he told her, “but I’m sure we’ll find out.” He squinted against the rush of wind. He didn’t flap his arms like wings, simply held them stiffly outright, soaring like a hawk. “The city seems busy.”

Stiffly, Knucklebones craned to see. In the distance floated another, smaller city, and red and blue gushes of smoke burst from it. Karsus returned hails of arrows, whirling balls of lightning, and misty, sparkling gasses of yellow and orange. As they rose higher, she saw that several buildings had corners and bites knocked from them. Obviously the two cities were at war, though she couldn’t guess why. More nobles’ foolishness. She wondered if her friends in the lower depths were safe.

Then the upside-down mountain slid past them like a cloud bank. The mountain had mostly been scoured clean by wind and rain, but in clefts and pockets nature hung on, and red pine trees and gorse bushes sprouted. The mountain filled her limited vision, then the edge showed, clean cut as if by a knife, and they looked at high stone walls surrounding ornate gardens. A prosperous neighborhood where nobles preferred to live on an edge rather than the hills. Naturally, this side was turned away from the enemy’s fire. The docks were launching pads for magic infused ballistae and spells. Whatever engineers controlled the slow spin of the city must have arrested it during the war. Just was well, for Sunbright could steer to this quiet side.

Yet even here there was damage. One corner of a house had been knocked off, so two walls in an upper bedroom showed, and red tiles littered a flagstone walk. The missile had shorn limbs from a willow tree and gouged the earth. Gardeners worked like bumblebees to clear the debris.

But here their toes lifted over the wall, so Sunbright called, “Hang on! We’ll land in the—”

They dropped.

Knucklebones had time for one short scream before she slammed onto grassy turf and lost her wind. Immediately she was up, crouching, feeling the grass. It was real. She was home.

At that stomach lurching drop, in a few seconds, she’d seen a lifetime of nightmares, imagining the long plummet to the earth below. But Sunbright had steered them over a wall and garden before the wards—they were in place—negated his flying spell.

But where was—

A thrashing sounded behind her. Sunbright had crashed into a bush with shiny leaves and red blossoms. Groggily he clambered free of branches, sucking a gash on his wrist. He leaned on a stone wall behind, then paused to look at it.

Knucklebones saw his gaze, said, “That’s the last wall. On the other side is nothing but a long drop.”

“Yes,” Sunbright drawled. Ever so carefully, as if he’d sink through the soil, he stepped out of the flower bed onto the grass, straightened his tackle, and took a deep breath. “We’re back.”

The thief nodded, grinning all over with relief. She nodded toward the house and street beyond. “We better move if we’re to find Candlemas.”

“Hey, you! Halt!”

A stone’s throw away, at the entrance to the garden, stood a trio of heavyset men in a house livery of purple and tan tunics. They waved short swords. “Come here!” one of them shouted. “You’re trespassing! We’ll have you flogged and quartered, you …”

Sunbright and Knucklebones walked toward them, the barbarian with his tall, panther’s glide, the thief high stepping and quick. Knucklebones waggled her thumb at the house guards and said, “We make for the street. Get out of our way.”

The guards balked, reached for their pommels, took another look at the dangerous, scarred pair, and stepped aside. Knucklebones didn’t even sniff as she passed. She was home.

Candlemas rubbed his burning eyes and aching head, and flexed cramped fingers. He’d gone without sleep night and day, without food, without rest, trying desperately to comprehend the muddled references and esoteric spells Karsus had mentioned might allow time travel.

The pudgy mage was alone in his borrowed workshop. A dozen books stolen from the library lay open, and handfuls and jarfuls and heaps of materials were scattered about: quicksilver, henbane, brimstone, lead, creeping thyme, chalk, a fish fossilized in a slate, an egg, an acorn, sand, a bottle of rare air.

The spells he listed were a jumble, some old, some new, some sprung from Karsus’s addled brain. Protect from getting lost (in space). Immunity to gasses (if there were any in the ether). Spell at maximum effect (he’d need it). Valdick’s spheresail (if time had currents). Shatter barrier (time barrier?). Trebbe’s invulnerability (couldn’t hurt, but was it necessary?). Dimensional folding (no clue). Stoca’s wings (to say the least). One of Xanad’s power words (if he could think of one). Yturn’s feather fall (backward?).

But the words blurred together while he read the list over and over, no closer to the true path, if there was one. With a genius (mad or not) like Karsus, anything was possible. For a while, Candlemas had considered simply asking Karsus to return them to their time, but sensed the answer would be no, he was needed. Or worse, sure, and they’d be mistakenly transported to the gods knew where or when.

But he had to try something, so he had prepared a scroll. Grinding various materials as finely as he could, he dissolved them in ink and inscribed the spells, hoping he got the right elements and spells in the right order. First was Stoca’s wings, thickened with egg yolk for bird wings. Then shatter barrier, with iron filings to mimic a sledgehammer. Then Valdick’s spheresail, with dandelion fluff that clotted the quill and made his letters smeary.

And so on.

But there was something else, he knew. The biggest element. He must recite the spell while touching the fallen star, for it was to its landing spot they wished to return. That was the only way to guarantee the right time and place. Otherwise they might find themselves a thousand feet in the air, or deep underground, or in some foreign land without a clue or—

The possibilities for mishap were endless, so he brushed them aside. He’d try his best, and hope for the best.

Except he wouldn’t be allowed to conjure at the star, because it was guarded by mages night and day to see no one tapped its awesome power, reserved exclusively for Karsus. Aquesita might be able to dismiss the mages, but—

But she was the other problem. Candlemas still hadn’t told her of his plan to get himself and Sunbright back to their own time. Would she go with him? Why should she? She was the highest noblewoman in the empire here, with a world at her fingertips: mansions, servants, gardens, treasures from countless worlds. Why would she accompany Candlemas to Castle Delia, where he had a dusty workshop and a small room with a straw pallet? He owned nothing, though he was rich by most standards, with a trunk full of coins gathered over the years and never spent. He’d never wanted to buy anything. He’d only studied magic.

And wasn’t that the problem? That he was a dumpy, bald, dusty little man of no importance? Why would Aquesita go with him? Why did she even associate with him now, when she could summon the most fascinating people in the empire to her tea table?

Yet, he hoped, she loved him. As he loved her.

But was love enough to leave her homeland and treasures and status? Or were such sacrifices the codswallop of softheaded romances?

In short, would she say goodbye when he left?

Far below the earth, diamond-tipped tornados of stone tilted and swayed and bobbed in agitation.

This is not what we planned.

We did not plan anything. We only gave the humans enough magic to destroy themselves.

That works. But this Karsus plans to become a god. No human can do that and live.

So? Better for us. He will flare like a candle and extinguish.

The Phaerimm stumbled over one another’s thoughts, interrupting, questioning, demanding, a thing unheard of in their history, for they were old as time and had decades to converse. But danger loomed like a moon eclipsing the sun.

His flare might shake the stars. He would use all the magic in one fell swoop. He could blow a crater the width of the empire. And as deep. Even down to here.

Impossible.

Nothing is impossible with magic, and this source is the greatest.

Are you saying we erred in giving it?

I say, men with fire can burn down a forest. Men with star magic can burn a world.

Then we are in danger.

No.

Yes.

Never, not us.

It could be.

It cannot be.

I am not sure.

Whatever, we must act.

To act would require us to go above ground, shift fully into the humans’ dimension! That causes us to explode! That is why we gave the humans magic indirectly!

We did not foresee personal danger.

We will pay for that shortsightedness with our lives. We, the oldest of the old, may cease to be and not the humans.

It is written in the stars that all things pass.

Not us. We were before the world was.

No, impossible.

Blasphemy!

Stop! Think! If we could act, what action would we take?

Silence was the only answer.

Blearily, Candlemas stumbled through the maze of corridors toward the star workshop. He clutched the scroll in his hand. It was smeary, crossed out repeatedly, highly dubious, but finished. It was a masterpiece, really, though no one would know. He only hoped it worked. If they got home safely, he might never ensorcell again.