Magic Casement (40 page)

“Dragons?”
Rap said. “Are dragons mundane?”

“Borderline.”
The chaplain rose and started to pace again in her ungainly way. “The
Impire is not Pandemia, Master Rap. It is the largest dominion, of course, and
because it is central, it has always tended to be the greatest-and of course it
has the Four to preserve it-but there are many other kingdoms and territories
beyond the Impire’s borders.”

Like
Krasnegar, for instance. Rap nodded.

“But
nothing can hope to withstand the Imperial army if it extends its full might. “

“Except
by sorcery.”

“Of
course. So the imperor and the Four agreed that no one might use sorcery on the
Imperial army-neither to harm it nor to aid it. Like the imperor himself, it
must be sacrosanct. The only exception is the warlock of the east. He cam. The
army is his prerogative.”

Rap
nodded again, beginning to see why the others had been so worried when he
brought the talk around to the Four. “You mean that the witch I saw-”

“You
saw a sorceress,” the chaplain said, “and it may have been Bright
Water herself, but we don’t know that! “

“Either
way, she couldn’t stop the troops on their way here?” The chaplain
paused by the fire and glanced briefly at the hostler before continuing her
lecture. “That’s what they say. Those soldiers are part of the
Imperial army, and to meddle with them would bring down the fury of the warlock
of the east-and the others would support him in that instance. So ‘tis
said. One thing I do know-there must be many great sorcerers and sorceresses
around Pandemia, Master Rap, but there is certainly none who could withstand
the Four acting together.”

Rap
toyed for a moment with crumbs on the table. Sour old Unonini was keeping
something back.

“I
gotta go,” Hononin muttered. “Word gets round I’m sick, there’ll
be mobs of nosy old women bringing jugs of bad soup here, just so they can pry.”
But he stayed where he was, on his chair.

Rap
looked up. “What are the other powers, then? Dragons?” Unonini
pursed her lips, then nodded. “Dragons rarely roam outside Dragon Reach,
but they are said to be the prerogative of the warden of the south. When
dragons waste, then the imperor must call on South to drive them back. “

“Even
if he set them loose himself in the first place!” the hostler said with a
foul grin.

The
chaplain winced nervously.

“Well,
why not?” the old man snapped. “Two years ago a flight of dragons
wasted some town on the Winnipango. That’s halfway across Pandemia from
Dragon Reach, and they didn’t touch anywhere in between! You telling me
they weren’t sent there? You know that sorcerers meddle, so why wouldn’t
a warlock use his own special power when he wanted to?”

“I
never met a sorce-”

“Piddle!
I never met a God, but I believe in Gods. And I believe the tales. My
grandpappy went to watch a hanging once, down in Pilrind; and when they hauled
the man up, he just disappeared! Faded like mist, he did! Left the noose just dangling,
empty. Some sorcerer had rescued him. “

The
chaplain sniffed. “I never said there weren’t sorcerers, nor that
they don’t use sorcery. Of course they do-all the time. An old schoolmate
of mine once saw a poor, demented woman throw herself off a high roof. She
should have fallen into a crowded street, but someone in the crowd must have
been a sorcerer, because she floated down gently; like a leaf, my friend said.”

“What’s
North’s pre-prerogative?” Rap asked.

She
hesitated so long that the hostler answered for her, confirming what Rap had
suspected. “The jotnar. Army’s land, see? Dragons fire. The jotunn
raiders are the sea-water, that is. “

“It’s
not as true nowadays as it was in the Dark Times,” the chaplain added, “but
the jotnar are still the finest sailors of the world. And they don’t
always confine their activities to trading, either. “

Rap’s
father had been a slaver, and a raider when convenient, no doubt.

“Anywhere
within reach of the sea,” Unonini said, “is within reach of the
jotnar.”

It
was what Rap had expected. “So if the imp army comes to Krasnegar, and
Thane Kalkor brings his jotnar, then... What then?”

Unonini
sighed heavily. “Then may the Good be with us! I don’t suppose the
Four often intervene in petty quarrels; little wars and small atrocities go on
all the time. As long as sorcery is not invoked, then the warlocks seem to
ignore them. But if Imperial legionaries face off against jotunn raiders-well,
then the warlocks may very well become involved-very well! Bright Water is a goblin,
and you say that the imps have been slaughtering goblins. By spring they may be
battling her jotnar, here in Krasnegar.” She shuddered and made the holy
sign of balance.

“I
must go,” the hostler muttered again.

“Yes!”
The chaplain straightened her shoulders. “I, also. And you, Master Rap,
and your... companions... must stay here for now, and out of sight. I wish this
wynd were not so much traveled. “

“What’s
West’s speciality?” Rap asked doggedly. Were the warlocks such very
bad news? They might even help, as Bright Water had helped him. They might keep
jotunn and imp apart.

“Weather,
they say. And you think Inosolan will be here tomorrow?” Mother Unonini
mused. “She will go straight to her father. I shall see that the doctors
reduce the dosage and try to revive him for the meeting... if he lasts that
long. Then they will both be in danger.”

“Both?”

She
nodded somberly. “ ‘Tis said that to share a word reduces its
power. If the word is keeping him alive, he may die because of the sharing. And
Inosolan will be in danger because she knows it.”

They
all worried over that thought for a while, and then the chaplain said, “If
you insist on remaining in the town, then we must find somewhere safer than
this for you, Master Rap. “

“He’s
welcome here, Mother.” But the hostler was eyeing Fleabag with a dislike
that was obviously mutual.

“You
do not even have a lock on your door! But where else can we hide him in a tiny
place like Krasnegar? With two thousand legionaries coming? They will be
billeted anywhere there is a span to spare. “

Hononin
heaved himself to his feet. “Nowhere I can think of. “

“I
was told once of a place,” Rap said, “if you can get us there. A
place where no one ever goes. “

A
single candle flickered and shivered in the night, casting its uncertain light
on the dying king. His face was wasted, yellow and skull-like, his hair sparse
and gray, his beard white. Even in sleep he writhed restlessly under the
covers.

The
drapes had been drawn all around the high bed, except for one small gap near
the pillow. Sitting beside that opening, the attending nurse patiently waited
out the long hours until her relief would come at dawn. From her seat she could
not see the door to the chamber, and no one entering from the stairway could
see either patient or nurse-unless that person had farsight, of course.

Mother
Unonini crossed the room to talk to her, and to inspect the invalid, her
lantern making inky shadows dance until she vanished around the corner of the
fourposter. The chaplain was an ideal accomplice for intruders, able to go
anywhere, answerable only to the Gods. Two youths and a dog came in silently
behind her and crept across to the deep shadows on the other side of the bed.

Worms
of fire crawled over the peats in the big fireplace and the room was heavy with
their pungent scent. Curtains on one window tapped monotonously to draw
attention to an ill-fitting casement. The drugged king moaned querulously in
his slumber.

Quietly
Rap laid down his bundle and waited, sending a restraining signal to Fleabag,
who was eager to investigate the unfamiliar scents of the sickroom. Little
Chicken also bore a bundle, but he continued to hold his, looking around
bleakly at the shadows.

She
was a surprisingly slick liar. Tactfully dismissed--and probably relieved that
she need not listen to an hour’s hard prayingthe nurse rose and departed.
Rap traced her progress as she descended the stairs within the far wall.

He
could find no signs that the prowlers had been detected. Even the great hall at
the bottom of the tower was deserted. The palace slept on, unaware that
intruders had penetrated all the way to the royal bedchamber, unaware, as well,
of the army poised to invade on the morrow.

Reassured,
he tried to check overhead, also, and was seized at once by a strong desire not
to pry. Inos had spoken of a spell protecting the long-dead sorcerer’s
secrets. Sweat broke out on his face and his head started to throb, but he
forced himself to look. There was another staircase in the wall-he established
that at the cost of a thumping in his temples and sick twinges in his gut-but
it ran up to...

Nothing!
The flat wooden ceiling marked the roof of the world. He relaxed then, knowing
that the effort was fruitless. He had noticed this same opaque blankness when
he entered the castle half an hour ago. Indeed he had noticed it when he left
with Andor at Winterfest, although his farsight then had not then been as acute
as it was now. Now he could sense almost every move in the whole building-even
some irregular activities in one of the maids’ dormitories of which
Housekeeper Aganimi would certainly disapprove if she knew-but his knowledge
stopped at the walls. Inisso had thrown an occult barrier around his bastion,
cut it off from all the world.

And
the chamber of puissance, if it existed-and Rap now felt strongly inclined to
disbelieve in it-was outside that shield. Then the lights and shadows began to
move again as Mother Unonini came waddling around the corner of the bed and
headed toward the high dresser opposite the doorway. Rap moved to join her, and
then they both halted, irresolute.

“It’s
the spell,” Rap said. Moving furniture around when the king was dying-it
seemed like a desecration. It felt wrong. There couldn’t be anything
interesting behind it anyway.

The
chaplain nodded uneasily. “You do it!”

“Little
Chicken?”

The
goblin shook his head vigorously, his angular eyes glinting wide in the light
of the lantern.

“Scared?”
Rap asked, although his own ribs were dribbling sweat.

The
gibe brought the still-reluctant goblin, and the two of them lifted the heavy
dresser away from the wall. The moment Rap saw the door, the strange reluctance
released him. He grabbed up his bundle again as the chaplain produced a ring of
massive keys and began trying them. In a moment the click of the lock rang like
clashing blades through the silence. When she pushed the door, it uttered a
groan that seemed loud enough to waken the whole city.

She
paused and raised her lantern to see Rap’s face. “Anything?”

He
scanned again, all the way down to the great hall. Two dogs had been snoring
before the fireplaces. They lifted their heads as the departing nurse emerged
from the stairwell. When nothing else happened, they went back to sleep.

“All
right.”

Mother
Unonini nodded and led the way up the narrow steps, her lantern showing matted
white cobwebs and dusty treads curving up into darkness. It was as much as Rap
could do to keep Fleabag from bounding ahead of her, for at the same time he
was disconcerted by the eerie blankness awaiting him at the top. He felt like a
fish being hauled upward to the water’s surface. Closer and closer came
that sinister nothingness. He was so accustomed now to viewing the world with
his occult talent that he felt he was being threatened with blindness; the
conflict between his two senses dizzied him.

Then
his head broke through. The uppermost chamber rose to a conical roof and of
course it lacked an opposing door leading to a higher story, but otherwise it
seemed identical to all the other great circular rooms of the tower. The fireplace
was empty. The garderobe door was closed, but Rap could sense through that.

He
could sense the city, also. It was the castle now that was barred to him,
locked within its occult shield. Sheer height made his head spin, as he felt
the streets and alleys, and the distant icepack piled on the rocks, far, far
below. He staggered and almost tripped on the last few treads.

The
door at the top stood open and the intruders walked through into Inisso’s
chamber, the sorcerer’s place of power.

“Well!”
breathed the chaplain, raising her lantern and then lowering it quickly, seeing
that its rays on the windows might alert any watchers outside. She was a very
nosy person, of course. She had first been shocked when Rap had suggested this
place as a bolt hole, but then her own obvious curiosity and the unexpected
opportunity to pry had overcome her scruples. She must be feeling
disappointed-there was nothing to see except dusty foot prints showing vaguely
on bare boards, where the king and Sagorn had walked on their visit in the
summer. The air was cold and still and musty, but totally lacking in mystery.
Just an empty room.

Being
unfurnished, it seemed large. Fleabag began slinking around this vast circular
emptiness, nose to the floor, pausing from time to time to analyze some detail
of scent.

Little
Chicken threw down his bundle and went to peer out of the nearest casement.
Mother Unonini sniffed disapprovingly at the billow of dust he had raised.

Rap
was still overwhelmed by his giddy sense of height. Combined with farsight, it
was intoxicating, exhilarating, almost terrifying. Far, far below, a mother
nursed her baby in a dark basement room, with the rest of her family asleep
around her, bakers’ apprentices were already stoking their masters’
fires; a lover tiptoed past a bedroom door on his way home...

Was
this what it was like to be a sorcerer? Did warlocks perch like brooding
eagles, high on their towers in Hub, watching all Pandemia laid out below them,
naked and defenseless? The wardens, being the strongest sorcerers of all, must
have a range enormously greater than Rap’s-had Bright Water really sensed
him all the way from Hub? Was she even now slumped naked on her ivory throne in
her own chamber of puissance, scanning the north, waiting for those ripples she
had mentioned, ready to strike down any evil use of magic? What would such
power do to its owner? He shivered.