The Tainted City (29 page)

“Wouldn’t dream of disturbing you,” I said dryly. “Still nothing?”

“No.” He sounded far more sanguine about it than I felt.

I led Cara around the cupola’s back side. The sky was lightening already, the triplet of stars known as Noshet’s Tears bracketing the Aiyalen Spire’s five-pointed summit.

“Marten set you a watchdog, I see,” Cara said, in a voice pitched to carry to my ears and no further. “But what’s he looking for?”

“I’ll explain,” I replied, equally quietly. “But first…” I shifted on my feet, hating how awkward I felt. I missed the uncomplicated ease of our old friendship. “Thanks for coming.”

She folded her arms. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Crossed my mind,” I admitted.

She said in a fierce, outraged whisper, “Khalmet’s hand, Dev, what do you take me for? You think I’d run out on you, or any friend who needed help?”

“No, I…” I stopped, certain anything I said would only anger her more. “Look, never mind. I’ve got good news for once. But let me catch you up…” I launched into a rapid, much-abridged tale of the past day’s events, from Kiran staring at me like a stranger over Jadin’s mutilated corpse, to my search with Talm for the scene of the deathdealer’s murder. I left out my deal with Avakra-dan, all too aware that Talm might cast a scry-spell to listen in on us.

“Mother of maidens.” Cara leaned against the wall of the cupola like she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. “You said you had good news. I sure hope so, after hearing all that.”

In answer, I handed her my remaining banking scrip and the carefully worded letter of bid I’d drawn up for Red Dal, then sparked the glowlight charm I wore on a neckchain. I shielded the glow with my hand and held the charm out so she could read the letter.

Her eyes went wide. “Dev, this…oh, thank Khalmet!” She caught me up in one of her rib-crushing hugs, papers still clutched in her hands. I returned her hold, awkwardness ebbing under the force of my own relief over Melly. For one blessed moment I was conscious only of the warmth of her body against mine, the sure strength in her arms.

“I need you to place the bid,” I whispered in her ear. “I don’t want him to know it’s me. I wrote out what you need to do.” She’d have to exchange the scrip at a banking house for a contracting writ, so Red Dal couldn’t just simply take the earnest money. He’d have to accept the bid first, by returning a signed contract to a blind account at the banking house.

I pressed one of the twin-seek charms I’d gotten from Avakra-dan into her hand. “Spark this if anything goes wrong, or if Liana warns you the Change has started.” I wore the braided copper band that matched her charm on my bicep. If she sparked hers, mine would heat to warn me, and lead me to her good as any find-me.

“I’ll do it straight off. But, Dev…” She drew back to peer at my face. “So much coin. You got it from Marten, didn’t you? What did he want in return?”

“Just that I play shadow man.” I flicked the glowlight charm with a finger to darken it and leaned in close again to whisper, “I don’t have all the money for the bid yet, but I’ll get it before payment comes due.”

“Assuming you survive until then,” Cara said, low and strained. “A killer who can rip apart mages and leave not a trace of his spellwork…” She looked down at the letter and scrip in her hands. “I hope you’re demanding protection as well as coin.”

“Why d’you think I let Marten saddle me with Talm? I’m safer than most are streetside.”

Cara tucked away the letter and scrip, her head still bent. “I know you don’t mind risk, and I understand you’ve got to keep working for Marten. But listen, about Kiran…maybe you should rethink this idea of taking on Ruslan.”

“What?” I stared, sure I couldn’t have heard her right. “What about, ‘I’d never run out on a friend who needed help?’”

“Kiran’s not being tortured or imprisoned, right? You said he even looked happy.” As I started an outraged protest, she held up her hands. “I know, I know. He’d never have wanted this. But why not back off and wait, see if Marten follows through on freeing him before you risk bringing Ruslan down on your head? Don’t you think you’ve got enough to worry about already?”

“Oh yeah, let’s sit back and trust Marten,” I hissed. “That worked
so
well before. Damn it, Cara, Marten will vanish back to Alathia the moment he’s sure their wards are safe, and then how the hell am I supposed to get near Kiran to help him? Kiran came here for me, even though he was fucking terrified over it. If you tell me that in my place you’d shrug and walk away while Ruslan molds him into some obedient lapdog, then you’re a hell of a lot more like Jylla than I thought.”

Cara went rigid. “Damn you, Dev, that’s not what I—”

The roof shuddered under our feet, hard enough to send us sprawling in a tangle of limbs against the cupola wall.

“Dev!” Cara rolled off me and pointed, her voice urgent. “The towers!”

Wardfire cascaded off all the spires in Reytani district, Aiyalen among them. Colored lightning stabbed between towers as ghostly flames licked along the bridges. All across the city’s rooftops, lines of silver burst to life along the stone of edges and walls in a great, shimmering web.

Quake wards! I’d heard of them in stories of the mage war. Supposedly the city’s stone was laced with them, though I’d never seen them trigger before. The stories said they kept stone standing, but only if the quake wasn’t too large. They’d failed many a time in the mage war.

The roof stilled beneath me. The shining web of the quake wards faded, though the wardfire on Reytani’s spires remained. I scrambled around the cupola to see Talm standing rigid at the roof’s center, his gaze locked on Reytani’s fiery display.

“Can you sense anything? Will Aiyalen’s wards hold?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer. A cacophony of shouts echoed from the streets below. Shutters rattled, and doors thumped. Half the city was probably taking shelter, the rest—those too dumb, or too new to the city to properly fear a mage war—sprinting for a view of the commotion.

The wardfire flickered out, leaving the spires unmarred in the moonlight. Talm rounded on me. “We go to the Aiyalen Spire by the fastest route you know. Now.”

Cara caught my arm. “Watch yourself, Dev. Whatever caused that wardfire, you’re no mage to survive it.”

“I know.” Risk be damned, I couldn’t miss the chance to speak with Kiran again. Whatever waited for us in Aiyalen, Ruslan was sure to come. “You’ll handle the other matter?”

“You can trust me.” She said it with bitter emphasis. I hesitated, words of apology piling up on my tongue, but Talm was already slithering down to the next lower roof. I sprinted after him, regret fading into nervous anticipation.

Chapter Thirteen

(Dev)

I
t took Talm and me a solid hour to reach Aiyalen’s gate, even at a pace that had us both panting and dripping with sweat by the time we climbed the final steps. The sun was slipping over the undulating ridgeline of the Bolthole Mountains, the Whitefires glowing molten gold. We found Marten, Lena, and Stevan already at the gate, arguing with a huddle of Sechaveh’s guardsmen and several skittish-looking mages. The mages wanted to refuse entry, claiming no foreigners could enter Aiyalen, but Marten corralled one of them and talked her into finding Edon.

When the mage hurried off, Talm gave Marten a swift report of the news I’d had from Avakra-dan and our search for the murder scene. He admitted unhappily his failure to find traces of blood magic. “But the confluence is so powerful here. At any location unprotected by wards, the currents erode away traces quite rapidly. I think my failure proves only that the death was too old for me to read properly, not that blood magic wasn’t involved.”

“Maybe magic can’t help, but I still can,” I said. “If I nose around more, maybe I can figure out why the killer wanted Benno’s man dead. But first, take me with you into Aiyalen and give me that chance at Kiran you promised.”

Marten nodded. “Get him to speak of Ruslan’s reaction to the wardfire, if you can. And remember, I need to know how far his memory loss extends.”

Again, I wondered why. Before I could ask, Edon emerged from the spire. His pinched face was sallow, his speech even more abrupt than before. “Four mages dead in the upper tower,” he announced. “You may visit the scene of the murders—the mages died in an outer waiting room, not where water spells are cast—but you may not cross the wards to the interior chamber.”

“Did the killer cross those wards?” Marten asked. I waited nervously for the answer, praying all that wardfire didn’t mean Ninavel’s water supply was fucked.

Edon shook his head, looking grimmer yet. “We’re not yet certain. Ruslan is checking now.”

Gods. I hoped Cara would urge our city friends to get out while they still could. Unfortunately, for far too many folk leaving wouldn’t be an option. In high summer the desert routes were furnaces, the cost of the water needed to traverse them prohibitive for all but the largest of merchant houses. The route over the Whitefires to Alathia was kinder in climate but far worse in terrain, the cost of supplies to survive the passage still higher than most streetside families could pay. I resolved with new determination to find something that would let Marten and Sechaveh stop the asshole responsible for all this.

Edon passed us through the gate wards and sent us onward, claiming he would follow after speaking with the guards. About a million stairs later, we reached an antechamber with a few chairs and a warded copper door, guarded by a pair of men who looked pale around the mouth. Though the door was shut, the rusting-metal stench of fresh blood filled the air. At least this time I was prepared. I pricked a finger and touched it to the rune-inscribed copper disc hanging on my neckchain beside the glowlight charm. The deadnose charm worked just as the shop dealer had promised: the stink immediately faded. I couldn’t smell anything else either, but I thought that a small price to pay.

The guards swung open the door. Despite the deadnose charm, my gorge heaved. Four dead mages—three male, one female—lay sprawled on the floor of the room beyond. The bodies were mutilated in similar fasion to Jadin’s, slashes, burned eyes, and all. Blood coated the floor, reddened the walls, and soaked the lavishly cushioned couches lining the room. If any was missing, it sure didn’t look like it.

Ruslan entered through a tiled archway on the far side of the room, Kiran and Mikail behind him. He ignored us and crossed to where the guardsmen stood.

“Inform Lord Sechaveh the spell chamber was not breached, and I have personally seen to the repair and reinforcing of the wards.”

My initial trickle of relief dried up. Repaired the wards himself, had he? If he was behind the attacks, talk about the perfect opportunity to leave some nice big gaping flaw in the new wards. Sechaveh had better be smart enough to have another mage check Ruslan’s work. He might not allow foreigners like the Alathians to do it, but Marten could insist Edon bring in another Ninavel mage.

Marten said, “I take it the killer did not succeed in disrupting the water supply?”

Ruslan gave Marten an unfriendly look. “Not directly, but these mages were preparing to take the next shift.”

Marten cocked his head. “Forgive the question, but I’m not completely familiar with the ways of Ninavel…from what I understand, all mages living here must contribute in some way to the water magic. Yet I assume that not all mages are capable of working the actual spells?”

I listened with interest. Everyone in Ninavel knew mages had to spend time on water duty, but nobody streetside knew exactly what that meant.

“Lesser mages contribute stored power in whatever form they are able,” Ruslan said. “But a certain threshold of ability is necessary to cast a spell powerful enough to provide a useful amount of water.”

“Ah,” said Marten. “With the wide variety of magical methods in evidence among mages here, I assume the spells used must also differ widely. But I believe the relevant question is this: how many mages now living in Ninavel are capable of useful water magic?”

Ruslan’s eyes narrowed. “More than enough.”

I drew in a breath, seeing where Marten was going. Sure enough, he said, “Then our mystery assassin cannot hope to disrupt the city simply by killing all the mages capable of water magic?”

Ruslan laughed. “If that is his plan, he is a fool. Lesser mages may die easily.
Akheli
do not.” Mikail’s expression mirrored Ruslan’s, full of confident amusement at the idea of someone killing a blood mage. Kiran didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look like he disagreed, either.

Was Ruslan really so arrogant as to think himself invincible, even with the evidence lying at our feet that magic wasn’t much good against the killer? Or did he laugh because he knew perfectly well the killer’s identity, and knew himself safe? I entertained a brief fantasy of the assassin showing up at Ruslan’s house and kicking his arrogant ass straight into Shaikar’s innermost hell. If only I could guarantee Ruslan’s death wouldn’t result in Kiran’s, that’d save me a hell of a lot of trouble.

“What if this is the work of a blood mage?”

It was Stevan who spoke, in his most freezing tone. Marten flicked a sharp glance his way before turning a gaze of patient interest upon Ruslan. For once, I cheered Stevan on. Marten might want to pussyfoot around our suspicions, but I thought it high time someone took the initiative to poke Ruslan and see how he jumped.

Ruslan laughed again, derisively. “It is not.”

“You sound very certain,” Marten said. “Has your research produced some information on the killer’s methods?”

“My research is not yet completed,” Ruslan said. “But I assure you, this was not done with blood magic.” His voice was flat.

“Why do you say so?” Marten asked.

Ruslan hesitated for a fraction of an instant before his expression settled into amused condescension. He drew a hand over a bloodstain on the wall, slowly as a man savoring a fine fabric. “For one thing, killing so quickly and crudely displays a lack of both talent and imagination. Slow death provides far greater power, as well as…satisfaction.”

I looked to Kiran, hoping to see disgust, dismay, or even fear. Something, anything, that showed he realized what a sick bastard Ruslan was. He was solemnly watching Ruslan, but I saw nothing of the kind in his face. A cold lump weighted my stomach, as I remembered how uncomfortable he’d been when Stevan pushed him on whether or not he’d cast blood magic before leaving Ninavel. I’d always thought Kiran rejected blood magic out of principle, once he understood what casting it really meant. What if that wasn’t true? What if he’d been fine with the idea of killing and torturing people, until Ruslan did it to his lover and it hit a little too close to home?