Shadow (12 page)

The villagers murmured among themselves about whether this wizard was as dangerous as they'd thought. They decided not to risk it and headed back up the path through the woodlands toward their homes.

Eric and Siel waded into cool thigh-deep water. Luminous fish pretty as jewels flashed around their legs and glinted through the clouds of silt their sinking footsteps disturbed. With a shriek Siel sank suddenly deeper into the water, clutching at Eric's hand as he pulled her up.

‘Don't scream and panic,' Loup called down from his high window. ‘A few deep spots here and there, is all. Nifty place, this! We'll be safe holing up here a while.'

‘Not for long,' came Gorb's ponderous voice. He'd taken a few steps into the water. ‘War mages will be here soon.'

‘You back off!' Loup snarled at him.

‘What for?' said Gorb.

‘Cause I
said.
No room for you up here.' But Gorb kept coming, till Loup threw something which landed in the water in front of him with a splash. While Gorb fished around for the object, Loup hurled down some kind of broken metal instrument which slammed quite hard into Gorb's huge face. ‘I said back off!'

‘I could get mad about that,' said Gorb very slowly, rubbing the great slab of his left cheek with a palm.

‘Git!'

‘Ask your friends who fed em last night.'

‘We'll talk later,' said Eric apologetically.

‘Git!' Loup screamed, throwing a rock at the half-giant. Gorb swatted it out of the air, his huge arm clubbing it far over the treetops. But he did as Loup asked and headed dejectedly back to the village.

Siel whispered, ‘Listen. I don't know what it is, but Loup's not himself. Maybe the new airs have got to him. Be on your guard.'

‘You think he's going to throw things at us?'

‘I don't know what he'll do. He's not all-powerful, but he
is
a mage. Telling all those people what you are, that was insane. I can hardly believe he did it.'

‘Why?'

‘Do you understand, Eric? You are a Pilgrim. A weapon, a mine of treasures, an omen, a grand secret. Our whole civilisation exists because of Pilgrims like you, coming here now and then throughout history with knowledge from Otherworld. Every power in the world wants you. Free and Aligned and rogue, all things in between. The fewer who know of you, the better.'

‘Why, for Christ's sake? I haven't done anything!'

‘For your basic knowledge alone. They'd all have heard of you by now. Even allied Mayors would go to war with each other to possess you.'

The tower loomed over them, on a leaning angle like it might topple forward and flatten them. ‘There were war mages at the door when I came in,' Eric said. ‘Sent there to kill us. If we're so valuable, why?'

She shrugged. ‘The Arch Mage is a fool in many ways. But maybe he knows of your world, and of your magic—'

‘It's not
magic,
Siel.'

‘— and maybe he feared Pilgrims would bring powers to undo him. This world is his now. I assume he wanted nothing to come here which could change that.' Siel seemed to debate something. ‘Listen. I knew things Anfen didn't, things even some of the Mayors didn't. Our task, why we were sent near the castle in the first place. It was nothing to do with getting an underground base near the castle! They
knew
you were coming through.'

‘Who knew?'

‘The Mayors' Command. Don't ask me how they knew, and why the castle didn't. I don't know the answer. But they knew a Pilgrim or several Pilgrims would come. Sending Anfen's band was a futile dice roll to get hold of you. Somehow it worked. They did not expect us to return, let alone capture the Pilgrims. It's why we've had so little help. My job was to keep us in the area till it happened. If we were caught, the order was to kill you so the castle didn't get hold of you. It would have been me to do it. Anfen never knew.'

‘Would you have?'

‘Yes.' He'd have appreciated just a moment's hesitation before she'd said that.

She climbed out of the water up onto a hard dirt shelf at the tower's base. ‘The point is, those villagers will talk. There could be a patrol at the village right now – that is a trade route back there! We may have a week, or less than an hour.'

‘So they'd take me to their city. Beds and baths and hot meals. Sounds terrible.'

‘Foolish! People are not as loyal to their cities as they once were. If mercenaries find you and work out what you are worth to the Mayors, there's a chance they will play games and try to sell you to the highest bidder.'

‘But look, you know Loup. He does things which are nutty but turn out for the best. You usually only know after.'

‘Or maybe the new airs have messed his head, the same way they disturbed the magic hiding that village. And hiding this building, whatever it is.' She slapped a slab of earthy stone set in the tower's sheer face. ‘We must get to Tanton. They have a sane mayor. The other cities
don't.
'

There was no staircase or ladder in sight. An arch opened up on the building's right side, leading to a gloomy space beneath. ‘Not in there,' cried Loup as they headed for it. ‘Stay away! Strange little spot, down there. There's tunnels going beneath the water. Don't know where they go or what they're for, but the tower doesn't want us in em. Murmurs and complains, it does!'

‘How else do we come up?' Siel called to him.

‘I've seen more brains spattered across Anfen's boots! The
tree,
you two! Climb!'

A brittle grey tree on the earthy platform reached nearly halfway up the tower's face. Siel stripped off her pants and wrung water out of them. Then with some difficulty (not helped by wet feet or Loup's agitated commentary) they were soon high enough that a fall would break bones. From halfway up the trunk they could see through the arch at the tower's base, where deeper water swirled in a large slow whirlpool. A breeze came up from there; in it, so faintly they were unsure they'd heard it, was a whispering voice. ‘I do not know what this place is,' Siel whispered, ‘but I have seen nothing like it before.'

‘Nervous?'

‘Yes.'

At the first window ledge, puffing, they both stepped onto a thin shelf of hard dirt. Siel yanked at the window a few times before giving up and smashing the glass with the hilt of her knife. Shards clattered to the floor inside. An outraged noise erupted from the folk magician above. ‘Now why'd you do that? This place is
alive!
It mutters and groans, oh aye it does. Don't go beating it! You mark me, this here's no hunk of stone and wood! Not only alive, damn near
aware of itself.
Be polite! Better hope it doesn't hold a grudge too.'

As though in agreement, the turf shelf below Siel's foot broke free and scattered down to the water with a shower of splashes. She yelped, grabbed at the window ledge and hung for a moment until Eric climbed in, reached out and pulled her up inside.

4

Gorb's belly rumbled with hunger. His larder called to him sweetly:
Ham and cheese, Gorb. Freshly baked bread smeared with mutton fat. Raw dough, why not? Vegetables, Gorb, fresh and crispy! We are, as ever, at your service …

Gorb appreciated the offer and hurried home. Woods, crop field, woods. The path was familiar as his skin, every step of it. He rubbed the welt on his face and considered whether or not to make a rare addition to the page in his mind headed
seek revenge upon,
with a blazing red picture of the silly old mage's face.

Great death-dealing wizard? He thought not. Just a little folk mage, could probably bless brews and do remedies, cure colds. Not even strong enough to re-cast the spell that hid the tower. For now he added the mage's face to the next page over, headed
watch yourself, little fellow.
There were quite a number of faces on that page. That dimwitted Thurnam, for instance, who'd mistreated his dogs. His poor dogs.

As for the tower, it was the work of the old magic schools, no question there. Gorb remembered the wizard who'd cast the hiding spell on the village more than twenty years before. He'd been seen late some nights crossing the village's fields and lurking in their woods; he was tall and bald with footsteps that seemed to float just above the ground. He'd refused to speak with the villagers who approached him, until seeing Gorb. Even then he'd stayed hidden, just sent a voice emanating from the gloom of the woods, demanding more payment for the spell than any honest village could afford.

When the Arch Mage learned of the tower – as he surely would – death would come to these lands quickly. Before the hiding spell broke, the tower had seemed to be a sheer rock outcrop no one had bothered risking their necks to climb. The water was the strange part; its edge was on ground they'd have walked across now and then. No one had ever mentioned getting mysteriously wet feet …

Something between the rows of trees caught Gorb's eye. He found with some surprise that he was not alone. A chap stood at a strange angle – an impossible angle, like that of a spear that had been flung into the ground, closer to lying down than standing. The stranger's back was turned.

Gorb rubbed his eyes. He had an eye for enchantments and such, but had seen nothing like this before. He opened his mouth to call out when suddenly there was a loud banging noise from back at the village. It could only be Bald, though what he was up to only great old Mountain knew.

The stranger sank into the ground, almost too quick to see. There was no trace of him – no tracks, nothing.

Gorb ran the rest of the way back to the village, then quickly ducked out of sight. A patrol had come. Five soldiers were talking to Aulek off by his vegetable patch. Two in Tanton colours, the others a mix from all over. So far their blades were still sheathed, but they looked agitated. No doubt they were here to ask why this village had popped up overnight and what mage had hidden it up till now.

The man closest to Aulek gave him a shove. Poor dim Aulek would not have half the words he needed to give them satisfactory answers.

So much for the cities leaving Outcast country alone, Gorb thought. The two Tanton-coloured men took some steps toward Bald's shed, when there came another huge banging noise, truly terribly loud. One of the soldiers fell back, clutching his chest. The others ducked as though fearing some fiery rain from above.

There was Bald! He held Eric's peculiar little weapon and had that delighted look on his face he got when he'd just understood something very tricky. The soldiers were not so pleased. They milled about their fallen friend, trying to work out what had hurt him. They reached for their weapons. Gorb did not see the cause/effect between the loud noise and the wounded soldier, but these men apparently did.

When emergency dictated – when anger or fear reached a certain point in a half-giant's heart – it unlocked a little store of power he or she could not access by simply reaching in. A blast of that potent power went through Gorb now, instantly all through his veins and brain. It didn't just make him move fast, it made him think fast, like he could see a tiny road of the future ahead, and move off it if need be. As he rushed to knock the angry soldiers off their feet (intending minimal damage) he saw this village being massacred when they learned Bald had been stolen from the city who owned him, and – as
they
would see it – had been filled with tales to make him wish murder upon their troops.

Moving quickly Gorb plucked the weapon out of Bald's hand (the Engineer protested vehemently). He tucked Bald under his arm and used that store of power to get them as fast as he could back to the funny wizard's tower. The little old mage could get as angry as he wanted – Gorb was going inside this time, and he hoped there'd be no need to get mad in return.

AZIEL'S FLIGHT

1

The airs were no longer frantic. Sluggish power curled through the castle hallways in lazy bands of colour. The Arch Mage breathed them in and power spread through his body, slowly calming the burn. The burn itself – once a writhing, searing pain – had over long years become a kind of comfort to him.

Vous had kept him busy over the past two days. The silence about the castle was the kind experienced after savage storms. No more screams from below – either the terror had ceased its movement down the levels or there were none left to do the screaming. Hundreds were dead, valuable mind-controlled staff it would take much work and bother to replace.

Vous's chamber door was shut for the first time since the latest episode began. Throughout it, the Arch had done circuits of this upper floor, very narrowly avoiding the terror's various forms and traps, keeping it focussed on himself lest it turn to Aziel. On the run he had paused now and then by her room to call brief words of reassurance through her chamber door. The episode had mostly petered out but he was not quite certain it was over.

In the wide space outside his throne room Vous stood in a now familiar pose. The ghostly form was still, head downcast in defeat. Was Vous experimenting with those newly found limbs the Arch had described to Aziel, the way an infant discovers his voice and experiments with babbling phrases?

The Arch marvelled. Babbling expressions of magic tossed around the room like a toddler's outbursts; spell craft made up on the fly, as fluent as thought, no care or art to it at all. Brilliant yet purposeless. It amazed and offended the Arch in equal measure.

Vous's ghostly image staggered backward into the wall, slumped down, and wept. The Arch went close as he dared, crouched low. The ghostly image whispered something.

‘I cannot hear you, Friend and Lord,' said the Arch, bracing himself. The last time he'd spoken directly to one of these illusions the reaction had been … unpleasant.

‘It ends here,' repeated the ghost.