The Gate of Bones (21 page)

He took a step back, as weakness from the Magick working hit him hard, and his heart slowed to a crawl. He backed to the doorway and let it support him for a moment. With a growl, Isabella swept her fist back and the two bodies went up in a crackle of white flame, then turned to ash, in a matter of minutes.

She put her chin up then and looked at him.

“Isabella.” His voice sounded weak, so he paused and took a breath, and forced it deeper. “How could you do that?”

“Me? Me? You think I did that?” The white of her face flushed with a different anger. “How dare you! What makes you think I'd be that kind of fool?”

He would have taken a step back in self-defense, but it was not wise to show weakness in front of her. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. “You didn't drain them . . . but if not you, who did?”

“Nor did I think you were raised to be a fool.” Isabella swept past him at the door's threshold, her hems brushing him. “I don't know who did it.” She pushed her hands into her hair, pulling it back from her face and then twisting it into a thick knot at the back of her neck. “It could only be one of them, and how they managed a draw from here, or at this distance, I do not know. But it means they have learned that Magick here drains, and drains permanently, and they are just as desperate as we are.”

She thought one of Gavan's Magickers had done that? He looked at the two ashy-oily spots of residue on the dungeon floor, shackles lying empty. No. He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“Or them above.” Isabella tilted her head to shoot an accusatory glance at the fortress overhead.

“If they could have done such a thing, they would have escaped us long ago.”

“Find an answer, then, whelp, and quit arguing with me. It was done, and it's up to you to find out how.”

He could have back traced the power drain, perhaps, if she hadn't been so quick to flash burn the bodies. He ground his teeth on his own sharp reply. She was tired, more so every day, and her anger flared often.

He put his hand out, palm up. “I will not only find out who and how, but I will bring you new reserves.”

Isabella paused for a very long moment then, and the fear in her eyes drained slowly, to be replaced by a sparkle. “Will you, indeed?”

“You know I will.” He waited.

Finally, she placed her hand in his. “I believe you will. The answers you seek, Jonnard, may well cement our position in ruling this world, as well as others.”

The same thought had occurred to him. He let her lean on him as he escorted her upstairs. More mysteries to solve, and this one most urgently.

T
HE ROOF IS DONE! The roof is done!” Bailey's and Ting's voices rang out in unison as they raced through the building and down the back stairs to the makeshift lumberyard where the others stood with the downstairs crew of wanderers, intent on making siding, window framing, and shutters. They skidded to a halt, Bailey's ponytailed hair bouncing as it echoed her excitement.

“At last,” breathed Rich. He gave a huge, lopsided grin, and paused, his shirtsleeves rolled up in spite of the fog which seemed to hang over the Iron Mountains that day. Stef thumped him in the ribs, grunted, and indicated the piece of siding he was shaping and sanding as if to say there was plenty of work left to do. Dokr and his workmen winked at each other behind Stefan's back, nodding in agreement.

Gavan, however, stood quietly. He flexed his shoulders with a weary sigh and looked at the girls with a tiny tilt to the corner of his mouth. “That is good news indeed. Looks like we should have a celebration in a few days. Dokr, we'll be done on the exterior . . . when?”

The head wanderer paused in contemplation, then counted out on his hand, six fingers wiggling. “Four days at the most, barring rain. Then two weeks on the interior, finishing, but rain will not stop us there. In good time we must hurry, though, for we must get to our winter camps soon.”

“A good job, then.” Gavan smiled at him. “A very good job. We had hoped to just get half built before bad weather hit, and here we are, nearly finished.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Jason, think you can bring everyone home tomorrow for a party?”

Jason had paused, working in a team with Trent on storm shutter sets, his hand filled with nails and a hammer. “Should be able to. I imagine they're listening for me.”

Trent reached over to pluck a few nails and tapped them into his framework while Ting and Bailey let out another shout of excitement.

“All right, then, I declare the day after tomorrow a free day.”

Stef grumbled something under his breath and went back to work as if disinterested. Gavan raised an eyebrow and watched the well-muscled Magicker wrestle his siding onto the worktables as Stef seemed to ignore him further.

Rich shrugged in apology. “It's not a free day if he can't go where he wants,” the redhead offered.

“Ah.” Gavan tucked the crystals he'd been working with away in the inside pocket of his cape. Faint purplish bruise marks of fatigue underscored his eyes as he then took a handkerchief and polished the Herkimer diamond in the jaws of his wolfhead cane, before looking up at Rich. “Perhaps we can arrange a field trip—if Tomaz accompanies you? He'll be back then. It's not that I want to stop the lessons altogether, but we can't keep everyone safe if we're all scattered.”

“A chaperone?” Rich looked interested.

“I don't need a stinking chaperone.” Stef straightened up, gripping his shaper so tightly his knuckles showed white against his deeply tanned skin.

Something flickered in Gavan's eyes, but he responded mildly, “Not so much that, I have business in Naria that Tomaz could be doing. But he'd be within distance for help if anyone needed him. Then you all could head back for the celebration.”

“You're not kidding?”

“No,” Gavan shook his head slowly at Stef. “I'm not kidding. You've worked hard, all of you, and you deserve a break. Madame Qi has talked to me on your behalf, as well. She reminded me that not all must walk the same Path to be on a good Road. Or something Confucian like that.”

A wide grin slowly spread across Stefan's face, and it was like the sun had broken through the cloud and fog hanging over the Iron Mountains and the tiny valley. His mouth worked for a moment, then he said, “Thank you,” before bending back to his work, this time with an enthusiasm that matched his brute strength. Wood shavings curled up and flew to the ground at his feet in fine, feathery onion skins.

Rich flashed Gavan a thankful look, before tending to his carpentry as well. In moments, the air filled again with the sound of saws, hammers, and the noise of wood being shaped to finish the academy, accompanied by soft singing from Ting and Bailey and punctuated by an occasional squeak from Lacey as she ran around underfoot, helpfully finding lost nails and other shiny bits of interest.

 

Henry laced his backpacks shut tightly, pausing for a look of pride at their bulging sides. He had a hiking backpack for each shoulder! In addition, he had huge burlap bags of staples requested by the cooks—rice, beans, flour and more—and a few additional surprises like thermal blankets and winter items knitted by his mom and older sister that ought to make everyone very happy as well as warmer. He'd tied them together, as anything on him or being held by him would go through the Gate when he went. The trick, he'd discovered, was to hitch everything together tightly. As long as he had a firm grip on the ropes, the Gate seemed to consider it as part of him, and Jason could pull him through. They'd discovered that the first time or two he'd made a trip back for provisions, and left bundles on the floor about him, and had to wait weeks before he could return and get the rest.

He ticked off the items on his mental list. Books and notes for Trent. Letters from all the families for everyone. Chocolate for Ting and Bailey, and everyone else, really. The sewing items. Food in bulk. Recent newspapers, photocopied and condensed for those interested in the world they'd left behind. He'd gotten everything they wanted and more, feeling slightly heroic about his own efforts. He'd even found some things for the wanderers, an assortment of items Gavan had quietly told him might make some nice rewards for the crew for the work they'd done on the academy. Nothing that would be terribly out of place on Haven but things that might make their lot a bit easier. A warmth filled him at the anticipation of his friends going through his many sacks of goodies. A few days ago, he was reluctant to think about going back to Haven, now he could hardly wait. It was as though he'd had his fill of being home, and needed to go back where he was more than a son, he was a Magicker.

More than that, he and his parents had discussed the schooling issue. No trouble had yet reared its ugly head, but the warning Winchell had given hung over them all. No one wanted any questions being asked that would lead to trouble for the families. The sooner he got back to tell Gavan and Tomaz and the others, to figure out what might happen and how to head it off, the sooner he'd be happy.

Downstairs, he could smell something delicious in the oven. All he needed now, was a sending from Jason to let him know a Gate would be opening soon. He scratched his head. A faint feeling of being watched over his shoulder made him twirl on one heel to find . . . no one looking into his room.

Henry frowned. He swept a searching gaze over the corners of his room, so familiar and yet now strange in some ways. It seemed the academy, even with its roughness and unfinished quality, felt more and more like home to him. Maybe that was why he felt uneasy in his old room now, as if he didn't belong there and someone might be watching him. The back of his neck felt all creepy crawly and he knew it wasn't Jason. Jason had never felt like some kind of squirmy bug that ought to be brushed off and
squished
as soon as possible.

Henry shifted uneasily and looked about again, finding nothing as he figured he would. He'd had that trouble once before when Jonnard had been Linked with him and he hadn't even known it, but that link was severed at the great battle of opening the Dragon Gate, freeing him. Things were different now and a lot better. When he'd found out that Jon could spy through him, he'd nearly died of the humiliation. He'd been a traitor and not even known about it until far too late! Stuff like that shouldn't happen to anyone.

Nerves. He was getting nerves. If he didn't stop it, pretty soon he'd be as jumpy as fidgety old Rich! That would be pretty fidgety. Rich, with all his allergies and his hypochondria, could be darn difficult to be around sometimes. The first few months in Haven, Rich had them all in stitches over his imagined ailments about the new foods and herbs and, well, nearly everything that existed in the other world. Much to his own surprise, Rich seemed much healthier in Haven Still, that didn't keep him from fussing like some old lady over everything. Henry imagined himself getting all twitchy. That made him laugh at himself, if a little sheepishly, before heading downstairs.

“Mom!” he called out, thumping down the steps. “What smells so good?”

 

The smell of vanilla and sugar permeated the air about him as he sat, nearly drowsing at his writing desk, and the aroma sank into the pounding of his temples. It refreshed him, filling his senses with a hint of an idyllic youth he himself had never had, Jon rifted his chin. His attempts to back trace the drainer of the Leucators had failed, time and again, but this attempt . . . hmmm . . . yes, interesting. Just when his failure seemed deepest and darkest and most bitter to report to Isabella, this sweetness had enveloped him.

He'd done it almost idly, not thinking it would ever be revived, but it seemed Henry Squibb had come within his range again. Jon decided to follow up on a tentative sensing of someone or something and had not been sure it was Squibb, but now he knew for a certainty that he had a hold on the round-faced Magicker once again. It did not solve the problem of the Leucators, but it might hold other possibilities of its own, and at least he felt somewhat reassured at his abilities. The defeat of one problem was softened a little by unexpected success here.

Jon smiled at the pleasantness of the contact. Squibb seemed to be at home, as the warmth of a kitchen and bakery goods filled Jonnard's senses. How like Squibb to be surrounded by . . . what was it? Cupcakes? Something of the sort. He decided not to grasp for a better understanding. The link between them stayed fuzzy and indistinct and although Jon knew he could sharpen it, he did not wish to do so. That might alert Henry as to the return of his soul to Jonnard's hold.

And that would be a tragedy. So many delightful things could be accomplished with Henry within his grasp again.

Jon sat up to rest his elbows on his desk. Should he tell Isabella of this accomplishment? Not yet, perhaps. Things should fall into place a little more, he decided. A world of possibilities could open up. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift into the vanilla-scented world of Henry Squibb where he sat and ate something sweet and iced, and worried with his mother over school, and if the authorities were trying to track down the whereabouts of the other Magickers. Henry worried, it seemed, that attention was being drawn to the Magickers who had fled to Haven. Bureaucrats and red tape could be very damaging.

Oh, yes. That could be something
very
useful. Trouble brewing at home could make Jason Adrian very vulnerable.

Looking asleep but with his scheming mind very wide awake, Jonnard leaned his chin on his hands and enjoyed spying. His reverie jarred to a halt moments later as Isabella called out for him, her voice sharp with command. He collected himself before finding her in what she called the audience room. The Havenite mercenary called Fremmler stood at the far end of the room, his hat in one hand. He dressed a little finer than others of his ilk, could read and write skillfully and had the ability to talk a duck out of its feathers, but Jonnard trusted him no more than any of the other mercenaries despite his education. Perhaps it was the scarred and obliterated tattooing across his hand, signifying the loss of his Trade Guild status and honor.