Strange Attractors (12 page)

‘Worth a try. Keep your eyes open.’

Always.

The witches who stepped from the coach were stunning. One had ringlets of black hair bouncing over her shoulders. Her cape was thrown back to reveal white satin lining and a violet dress. She wasn’t as tall as the younger woman with her but she carried herself like a warrior, or a queen. The other had honey-coloured hair sweeping down to her thighs, rich against her sable cloak. Her body was lithe and graceful but she seemed uncertain—the apprentice? Neither was visibly armed.

Rosette could tell they’d been arguing. The younger woman’s face was tight and her companion’s eyes blazed, black coals framed by her dark curls. But as they stood to instruct the driver, they transformed—eyes relaxed, lips smiling. There was no glamour on them; Rosette was sure of that. But the dark-haired one had an aura of crimson, and more than temple initiation on her mind. The other’s aura matched, though it was shot with purple and gold as well.

Rosette suddenly felt rustic in her woollen cloak and leggings. She went to cinch her sword belt a notch tighter and found it wouldn’t move; the bulge in her belly had grown. ‘Great,’ she whispered. ‘I told you, no surprises.’

Problem, Maudi?

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, wafting a gentle glamour over herself and Drayco, hiding her sword and turning him into a sheepdog.
Not any more.

Drayco took a few steps forward and looked down at his shaggy white paws.

Maudi. I know what you’ve done. Don’t think for an instant that I am at all pleased.

Let’s just get ourselves into the city without debate, shall we?

You mean other than the one we’re about to have?

Dray, sweetheart. We need to hide our identity until we find out what’s going on. Remember, Scylla needs us. An’ Lawrence needs us.

Yes, and Teg probably needs us too. He’s completely lost, it seems.

Demons. I forgot about him. Where is he?

No idea.

Right. To Corsanon then. Please play along.

And what will you call me?

‘Laddie! Come on, boy,’ she said aloud, slapping her thigh.

Drayco tried to hiss but it came out like a sneeze. Rosette stepped up to the coach as the women passed, smiling as if she’d come from the temple and was expecting the lift. She did her best to look the part of a young priestess on her way to the city, no doubt to join a nobleman in some festivity. The women nodded to her and walked towards the temple gates without a word.

That was easy, Maudi.

So far. What did they have in old Corsanon, Dray? Palaces? Mansions? Halls?

I believe it would have been palaces.

Rosette turned a bright smile onto the coachman. ‘Take us to the palace square please,’ she said.

The horses were fine enough to be from the higher end of the city and she thought the more extravagant her request, the less likely it was to be questioned.

‘My pleasure, Mistress.’ The driver tipped his hat. ‘And the dog can ride with you.’

Isn’t he just cordial, Maudi?

‘Thank you.’ She popped a gold piece in his hand and opened the door for Drayco. ‘In you get, Laddie.’

Drayco jumped onto the seat and stuck his head out the far window, panting as the horses took off.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

If you’re going to make me into a dog, I’m going to behave like one.
He tipped his nose to the moon and barked all the way to the city.

When An’ Lawrence awoke, it felt like he was crawling out of mud. He didn’t recognise his surroundings. He automatically reached for his sword, straining until he realised his hands were bound behind his back, his face pressed into the ground. He was certain someone had been hammering his head with a shovel. It throbbed with every heartbeat and his ears were ringing. He tried to move his legs only to find the pain in his head redoubled. It was worse in his thigh, shooting to his toes when he tried to look. He forced one eye open. All he could see was a stone floor, filthy straw and the edge of a wooden bucket. The light was dim, coming from a lantern outside. A shadow fell across his face from a high barred window.

Prison? How did that happen?

His memory had not returned as quickly as the physical sensations. He felt tortured and it took a few moments of controlled breathing before he could manage the pain and assess his situation. As he generated a warm,
vitalising energy up his spine and through his limbs, he lifted his head a little higher. Memory returned.

He was shot. That was certain. He blinked his eyes and strained to look down his side. A broken arrow protruded from his left thigh, the blood around it brown and crusted. They’d taken his boots and his cloak and sword. There was no food or water nearby.
So they aren’t planning on keeping me alive for long? That’s almost a relief.

The relief, Rowan, is the sound of your voice. I’ve been trying to wake you for hours.

Scylla, my lovely! Do they have you too?

Certainly not. I’m outside your window, on top of a wine cart.

I thought I sent you into the corridors?

You did.

What happened?

I came back out.

An’ Lawrence chuckled then winced.
How many guards?

Seven, but that’s not the problem, Rowan.

It’s not?

Hardly. They are planning on executing you in about five minutes and Rosette is still on her way.

She’s what? I know I sent her and Drayco into the corridors. Isn’t anyone staying put? Where’s Teg?

I don’t know about the Lupin. I can’t reach him, which means he’s probably dead.

An’ Lawrence groaned.
Kreshkali’s going to kill me.

Actually, Rowan, the guards coming down the stairs are going to kill you. Stall them, if you can. I’m waiting for Rosette. She comes now. Be ready.

Scylla, my lovely. I’m shot in the leg, hog-tied and barely able to control the pain in my head. Also, my
bladder’s about to burst. What is it you want me to be ready for?

I suspect we will have to fight our way out. Here they come. Buy time!

An’ Lawrence took a deep breath, then blew out towards the cockroach inches in front of his face. Its long antennae waved at him briefly before it scuttled over his head and down his back. He focused on his solar plexus, generating more energy to soothe his pains. He couldn’t think with the pounding in his skull. As the waves of heat rolled up his back, he imagined perfect health, perfect fitness, perfect strength. He opened and closed his eyes a few more times, like working the hinges on a rusty old gate, and relaxed. As the headache lessened, the throbbing in his thigh increased and he focused more healing energy there. Just when he thought he might be able to sit upright without vomiting, he heard footsteps outside. A key twisted in the lock and the stone door swung open, grating over the cobbles.

‘We’ll do it here,’ a deep voice said. ‘Less mess.’

‘They aren’t going to question him?’

‘Too risky. He’s a temple-trained witch. He might bend their minds. Don’t look in his eyes and whatever you do, don’t speak to him.’

‘I doubt he’s still alive.’ The owner of the voice stepped closer to him, nudging him with a staff. ‘That arrow’s black-tipped. Cast in hemlock.’

Hemlock? That would explain the headache. Scylla, how’s the backup looking?

We can get you out, but you’ll have to deal with those two yourself. Rosette’s got a prince on her tail. She’s trying to lose him.

A prince?

Focus, Rowan!

An’ Lawrence closed his eyes and soothed his mind. He sensed the boots near his face and listened for the draw of the man’s sword. It came with a pure-pitched sing—a fine blade, for the broad, double-edged kind. Today he was glad the Corsanons wielded such chunky weapons. It would do the trick.

The man lowered his sword to An’ Lawrence’s head. He paused for a moment, hovering just above the articulation of his first and second cervical vertebrae. The proximity of the steel raised the hairs on his neck. As the guard lifted the sword, An’ Lawrence sprang, twisting his back to the blade and holding his wrists as wide apart as possible. The tip of the steel blade sliced through the bindings before the guard had time to stop the momentum. An’ Lawrence spun back around, his hands free. The second guard drew his sword and charged towards him.

An’ Lawrence leapt away from the first guard’s hammer blow, grabbing the wooden bucket. He smashed it into the second guard’s face, the splinters impaling like daggers. With a focused boost of energy, he called on the Elemental Fire and the shards burst into flames; the guard’s broadsword clattered to the floor and the man frantically swatted his face. An’ Lawrence swept up the blade, freeing his feet in one swipe. Thrusting his sword arm up, he blocked a strike from the first guard and followed with an uppercut that sliced his opponent’s torso before driving the blood-soaked blade deep into the second guard’s chest. The Corsanons dropped to the ground at the same time. An’ Lawrence flicked the weapon clean of blood, groaning at the effort, but stayed poised to strike in case either opponent moved. As dark fluid seeped from their still bodies, he stretched his neck left and right, letting out his breath.
I’m ready when you are, Scylla.

Brilliant. Rosette is near. Hold them off a little longer.

Hold who off?

The guards coming down the stairs. Mind the fire, too.

An’ Lawrence ducked behind the door when he heard marching boots. His fire spell was out of control. It leapt into bright orange flames, consuming the guards’ uniforms and ripping across the straw and splinters scattered on the floor. Smoke rushed out the barred window, taking the gagging stink with it. He stifled a cough then dragged one body back against the wall and pressed himself flat as the door swung open.

Orders were barked and a string of guards carrying water buckets poured in. They were preoccupied with the flames until the fire was almost out. When they rolled the remaining body over, the cell went quiet. The charred man smouldering on the floor was not the prisoner but a fellow warrior, though there was a moment’s debate over which one it might be. The ring of drawn swords was deafening. As one, the guards in the room turned to spot An’ Lawrence pressed against the back wall.

They screamed a battle cry and charged. He was counting on that—overzealous, foolish Corsanons. The room was too small for them to manoeuvre. They were all in each other’s kill circle and none of them could swing without slicing a head or an arm off their comrades. An’ Lawrence took advantage of their lack of foresight and swung his blade double-handed across the lot. He charged the steel with a boost of magic, but the blade was broad and thick, not as quick a conduit as he was used to. Still, it was effective. The three warriors left standing jumped forward and with another boost he knocked them back against the far
wall. Conjuring a final spell of strength he dashed out of the cell, slammed the door and bolted it.

Sweat dripped off his forehead and his breath came in ragged gasps. Before he could register the location and severity of pain his body screamed with, he froze, hearing the growls. Slowly he looked over his shoulder, blade ready to follow in an arcing swing. A High Guard soldier was coming down the steps, taking them two at a time—in long stately strides—his dark blue cloak flowing out behind him. Leading the way, straining at their tethers, was a pair of bullmastiffs. Their jaws were like bear traps; their wide collars spiked with steel blades and lips pulled back over white teeth, their black faces contorted as they snarled and snapped. Saliva hung in strands from their lower lips and their hackles ran the length of their spines. An’ Lawrence was gathering his energy, hoping he could call up a big enough boost to fend them off, when the guard stopped midway down the steps and unsnapped their leads. The dogs bounded towards him as he lifted his blade, the weight of it heavy in his hand.

Put the big knife down, Rowan. It’s me.

Scylla?
An’ Lawrence dropped his arm.

Midway in the air, the two beasts shimmered, the glamour falling from their bodies like leaves in the breeze. Instead of two death dogs charging for his throat, the temple cats leapt towards him then landed lightly, one on either side.

I told you we were coming, Rowan. Hurry, Rosette has a coach waiting, though for how long I don’t know. You started quite a fire.

An’ Lawrence looked again and the figure on the stairs winked, waving him on. ‘Quickly, Sword Master. I left the meter running.’ It was Rosette’s voice though the High Guard spoke.

He grizzled, wincing as he climbed the stairs towards her. ‘Your glamour just took ten years off my life, daughter!’

‘Did you like it? I thought it quite inventive. Got us right past the inner guards without a query. Drayco’s idea. He thought it much better than the sheepdog.’

‘What sheepdog?’

Later, Rowan. We need to get away.
His familiar urged him forward but he paused before he reached the top.
This way, Rowan.
Scylla was growling.
Every alarm in the city is about to go off.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘My sword.’

‘Blow your sword!’ Rosette turned on him. ‘I’ll commission a new one for you myself when we get back, but we’ve got to get out of here now.’

The High Guard soldier was gone and in his place stood Rosette. The cloak was the same but underneath she wore a black dress edged in red lace. The bodice was very low cut and her pregnancy-enhanced breasts captured all the attention. She gripped her sword in her right hand, her eyes levelled at his.

‘Rosette,’ he said, staring at her dress. ‘What exactly have you been doing?’