Tribute (16 page)

‘
NO!'

Two voices scream the word together.

I roll over and jump to my feet, all tiredness driven out of me by shock and fear. Oh gods.
Marcus!

Somehow I manage to do it all at once. Strengthen the shield of air in front of me. Send out a thread of consciousness to seek for life inside the Hound, and tear the bow from my would-be murderer's hands and splinter it into a million fragments. I sense the iron at her belt and take that too in my rage. Almost. Almost, I could kill her. Except I want to protect her too. She's crying. Stumbling forward to drop to her knees beside the Hound.

‘Don't touch him,' I hiss. ‘He's still alive. I have to try and get the arrow out. Go and get Quint. NOW!'

I roar the last word. Stupid child! Stupid, hate-filled child. She's probably killed Marcus. And that means Aidan is dead too. I'm shivering with rage. But I can't hate her. She's Twiss.

‘Go on. I need to concentrate on repairing the wound. I can't do that if I have to worry about you stabbing me in the back.'

‘You  …  you m-melted my knife.'

‘Just go! Fetch Mistress Quint. Unless you want Marcus to die.'

Something inside Twiss breaks. I don't know if it will mend again. Or if I even care. She takes one look at the loathing and disgust in my face and turns and runs.

I release the air-shield and kneel beside Marcus. I've found his life force. It's struggling. And now I have to do something no mage attempts. Something the books say is nearly impossible. Dangerous. If I'm clumsy I could kill him. But I won't be clumsy.

I gather all my talent, all my skill, all my determination not to be beaten. I won't let Marcus die. Not like this.

I close my eyes and send my consciousness into the Hound's body. Into the wound in his chest. I feel the shape of the hole. Feel damaged muscle fibres, tendons. Blood vessels sliced and bleeding. The arrow is lodged in his lung, which is filling rapidly with blood. The Hound is drowning in his own blood.

Slowly, carefully, I reverse the arrow's flight path. I pull it, fraction by tiny fraction, out of his body. And I repair as I go. Muscle, blood, tendon. They aren't harder to work than stone or air. Just more delicate. I lose myself in the intricacy of the task. Fascinating! I feel confidence growing. Danger there! Arrogance begets carelessness. Just keep slowly regrowing the blood vessels, reattaching muscle fibre. My body is shaking with effort when I reach the last few layers of flesh.

At last, the arrow eases free, leaving only a small round puncture in the Hound's leather tunic. The shaft drops to the ground with a dull plunk, a blood-stained stick with a narrow point of stone at its tip. What a stupid, frail-looking thing, to take a man's life.

I've stopped the bleeding, but Marcus's left lung is still full of blood. I feel for his life force. It's dwindling. The Hound is dying. I don't know how to get the blood out of his lung.

Think!

My head hurts. I'm cold and shivering. And on the verge of panic. Please, gods! Time's grace, help me. But there's no one to help. I have to do it. Alone.

‘I'm so sorry, Marcus,' I say. Tears are streaming down my face into my mouth. ‘It was supposed to be me. Not you. It isn't fair.'

He'd laugh. The Hound has never expected life to be fair. But he doesn't let that stop him. It won't me, either. I gather my shredded concentration and force my mind to the job. I find the blood bubbling in his lung and make it change.
Water to air; air to earth; earth to fire.
The cycle of life. Elements. Much of the blood I change to air. The rest becomes earth. A small amount is left as water. And there. It's done. He's breathing easier. But so cold. So far, far away.

Where is he? I need to pull him out of Elsewhere or he'll die. So I follow him there. And find I knew the way all along.

Twiss sits in a corner of Floster's chamber, hunched small, arms and legs wound round each other as though she is trying to keep from flying apart in a hundred small, wretched bits of twelve-year-old child. Her face is tear-stained, her eyes empty of anything except misery. Anyone looking at her would see her crime writ plain. I glance at her when I think Floster isn't watching, and silently urge the little fool to stop looking so guilty. But she has always delighted in making my life difficult.

‘Who shot Marcus? I don't want to ask again.' Floster glares at me as though she'd like to dig the information out of my head with her bare fingers.

‘And I don't want to have to keep telling you,
I don't know
! I had my back to them. By the time I turned around, they'd gone. And then I was rather busy trying to save Marcus's life. Which, if you've forgotten, I did!'

‘What were the two of you doing in that part of the catacombs? Stop lying to me, Zara. Marcus wouldn't have been shot in the first place except for you!'

I wince. My own guilt pounds my head as violently as the headache that has punished me since I dragged Marcus's consciousness out of Elsewhere. ‘I know. Do you think I don't feel sorry? All right. I'll tell you the truth. Marcus was teaching me to go to Elsewhere.'

‘Only us thieves can do that.' Her eyes narrow. ‘He's no fool. He wouldn't waste his time trying to do what can't be done.' She raises an eyebrow. ‘Or was it something a bit more basic? He's taken an interest in you.' Her eyes flick up and down my body. ‘You're a good-looking girl.'

‘No.' To my horror I find myself blushing and my face grows even hotter. ‘He wasn't  …  Look. I can prove it. Because I had to go to Elsewhere to bring him back.'

Floster looks at me as though I've grown an extra arm. ‘That's impossible!'

I shrug. ‘There's only one way to prove who's right.'

She nods. Her face is pale. I settle myself cross-legged on the floor. I won't go far into Elsewhere. If I can find it at all. Suddenly I feel uncertain. I've only managed once. Perhaps I won't be able to find it again. Of their own accord, my eyes search out Twiss. She's aroused from her stupor of self-torment sufficiently to watch me, suspicion battling belief in her face. Why do I care for this girl? She tried to murder me and nearly killed the Hound. And she may have doomed Aidan to horrors beyond even what she can imagine. But I can't give up on her. Or Aidan. Or Swift's memory. So  … 

I close my eyes, and it's so different, this magic. For I know in my soul that it is magic. This is a letting go, not an engagement of will. I give up my will, and there, there is the path. It's a warm place, Elsewhere. Welcoming. Inviting me to stay  …  to melt into a place of warmth and comfort the like of which I've never known  …  to let go  … 

‘
Zara!
'

Mistress Floster has followed me. She herds me like a collie dog, nipping at my heels, forcing me back into life.

I open my eyes with a gasp and a sigh. I hadn't meant to go deep. I'd only meant to go a little way. I shiver. Elsewhere is so beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous. I look up at Floster's strained, frowning face. ‘Thank you. I  …  I didn't mean to –'

‘Don't try that again on your own, Zara. You have a powerful spirit and a strong will. You were deep so quickly I nearly couldn't find you. I will undertake your tuition myself until Marcus is well enough. I don't know  … ' She falters to a stop. ‘You're a mage, but also a thief. I don't understand. But I can't deny what I've witnessed myself. Don't speak of this! Nor you, Twiss. I need to think. I don't know what you are now. And I don't know what I am either. Until I can decide what to do about this, speak of it to no one.'

I nod.

‘Not even to Philip.' Her voice brooks no disobedience. And I agree. Our world has subtly shifted.

‘Very well.' Floster sighs, moves to her chair and sits heavily in it. She props her head on her hands. Then looks up; first at Twiss, who seems more alert, then me.

‘Twiss shot Marcus,' she states. It isn't a question. ‘She was trying to kill you. To avenge her blacksmith.'

‘No.' I look the Mistress in the eyes and lie. I almost believe it myself. ‘I know it wasn't Twiss because I mind-called her and told her to fetch Mistress Quint. I knew I could reach Twiss. We know each other quite well. She doesn't believe I betrayed the foundry workers any more. Do you, Twiss?'

The child turns wondering eyes from Floster to me. Tears stand in her eyes and she speaks for the first time. ‘No,' she says, her husky voice barely audible. ‘You never done it. I know that now.' She shivers and hides her shorn head in her arms.

Floster sighs again. And makes up her mind. ‘Very well. You have Zara to thank for your life, child. Get out now. Go on back to the den.'

Twiss hunches to her feet, head turned away from both of us. She slinks to the door and disappears through it without a backward glance, taking her misery with her. I can breathe again without its heaviness polluting the room. My headache begins to fade.

‘I know she did it.' Floster's voice breaks the silence left in the child's wake. ‘You're protecting her. And  …  I thank you for that. And for what you did for Marcus. They're the only two souls left in this world I care about. It would have hurt to have sent her away. So I thank you, Zara, daughter of Benedict.'

‘Daughter of Eleanor.' I meet her eyes, neither denying or admitting.

‘Yes,' she says. ‘You are. And I thank the gods that you have come to us. Look after the child. And look after yourself.' She stands, heavily, awkwardly, and moves around the table to me. I'm still sitting cross-legged and chilled on the floor. Floster reaches down and takes both my hands and pulls me to standing. Her face is solemn. ‘Welcome to my tribe, Zara.' And she kisses me on my forehead. On my mage mark.

It must be the first time in the history of humanity that a thief has kissed a mage.

My chest feels tight enough to burst. Surely. Surely now.

‘Aidan,' I stammer. ‘The Maker.'

‘No.' Floster lets go of my hands and steps back, all warmth gone and her will rock-like. ‘It would take too long to train you up so I could be sure of you. And you're too valuable, Zara. You are meant to do great things. I'm sorry. We will stop Benedict. Philip and I are making plans. But we can't save the boy.'

Mistress Quint opens the door to the sick chamber almost at once. When she sees me her eyes widen and she rolls backwards as though wheeled on a cart, opening the door and gesturing me inside.

‘Quick-quick,' she says, shutting the door behind us. ‘No one is allowed to see him. But of course you are different. The heroine of the day! Exceptions will be made. Come in, come in! He's awake.' Nodding and rubbing her hands, black-button eyes gleaming at me sideways on, Quint all but pushes me through the curtain screening off the bed where the Hound is lying.

‘Hello,' I manage.

He just smiles. He's lying bare-chested beneath the covers. My eyes immediately go to the scar, a red moth hole in a blanket of dark chest hair. I have been inside his chest with my mind, I think, and suddenly everything feels far too intimate. Impossible.

I turn briskly to Quint. ‘Could you leave us alone for a moment, please. I promise not to kill him.'

She looks disappointed, but nods. ‘Of course. Kill him  …  most amusing. Interesting to observe that mages have a sense of humour. I will go, but not for long. I will return soon. Mustn't tire the man.' She reverses out of the room, snapping the door closed behind her.

When she's gone, I still can't think of anything to say. Except the obvious: ‘How do you feel?'

‘Weak as a day-old pup.' He grimaces. ‘But glad to still be here. It were Twiss, weren't it? She came to see me. Sat next to the bed and cried her eyes out. Mad Quint sent her away and to be honest, I was pleased to see the back of her.'

I say nothing. After a moment, he smiles. ‘You got it planned, haven't you? Twiss is the most talented middling I've seen in twenty years training 'em up. She'll work with you.'

I can't find a smile to give back to him. ‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘You nearly got yourself killed trying to help me and I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't for nothing. I got to Elsewhere.'

‘I know. I owe you, Zara the mage. I'll not forget.' He reaches out and clasps my hand in a crushing grip. All laughter fades from his face. Eyes troubled as a stormy night stare into mine. ‘Look out for yourself. Come back, girl. Promise.'

I release my hand from his, then bend down, as though to kiss his mouth, which curves invitingly. I feel my face grow warm; I'm blushing. The blood sings in my head and  …  almost  …  I allow myself to taste those passionate lips. But at the last moment, I turn my head and kiss his cheek. A sisterly kiss. I try not to laugh at the disappointment in his eyes as Mistress Quint bustles into the room.

‘I promise,' I call to him as she tidies me out the door.

It takes me most of the rest of the day to track down Twiss. She's hiding from me, flitting like a ghost through the living areas of the catacombs. As I stalk through corridor and chamber, I notice a new atmosphere. News of the Hound, and my part in saving his life, has permeated every dark corner of the caverns. Eyes follow me, but most are no longer hostile, merely curious. A small draggle of middlings gathers and follows me like the long shaggy tail of a market dog. Whispers, giggles, the pattering of bare feet trail behind me as I search the catacombs for Twiss.

Finally I corner her outside the very cell I was first placed in. She's been hiding in the prisoner holes. She sees me coming and turns to run. I'm so tired and frustrated I have to fight the temptation to stick her feet to the ground.

‘Talk to me, Twiss!' I shout. ‘You owe me that.'

‘Aay, Twiss!' shrills one of the wolf-pups. ‘Ain't scared, are ya?'

She whirls round, fists clenched, and I'm pleased to see that all fight hasn't been knocked out of her. Quickly, before she runs again, I walk forward, but stop a careful two feet away. ‘I've got something to ask you,' I say in my most matter-of-fact voice. ‘It won't take long.'

She hesitates, watching the middlings edging nearer. ‘Piss off, you lot!' Twiss scowls at them, glances quickly up at me then looks away. ‘All right. But not here. Not with them listening.'

‘Follow me,' I say. And turn and walk away. The wolf cubs scatter at my approach. I don't look back to see if she's coming. I have to trust. If I look, something tells me she'll melt away and any hope will be gone for good. I can't hear footsteps but this is Twiss – she moves without noise.
Time's grace,
I pray,
let the child be there.
She's Aidan's last chance. My last chance.

By the time I reach Philip's chambers my heart is thumping wildly and the urge to glance over my shoulder is almost overwhelming. But I push the door open and walk in. Sit at the table scattered with the Seeker's drawings and vellum scrolls. And only then do I look.

She's there. Standing just inside the room, her back to the open door. Balanced on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and frightened, looking like a feral cat, ready to hiss and scratch and run away.

‘I don't think we want to be overheard, Twiss.'

I listen to my own breathing for a long time until her mouth tightens and she turns and closes the door. And comes to the table and sits opposite me. This time, she doesn't look away from my eyes. I imagine it's the hardest thing she's ever done.

‘I need your help,' I say without preamble. ‘I'm going to Asphodel. To the palazzo. I have to find the Maker and get him out. Bring him here.'

She stares at me. The unhappiness and guilt in her face is replaced with disbelief. ‘You're crazy!'

‘Possibly. But I still have to get him out.'

‘Why?!'

‘Because Benedict is going to use him to attack the Makers. A lot of people will die. And if the Archmage's plan works as he intends, the whole Maker world could be destroyed.'

‘Don't Floster know?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then why ain't she helping? She don't want you to do it, do she?' Twiss's eyes widen. ‘Marcus was training you up, weren't he? That's what you were doing there.' She flushes, glances down at her hands twisting and twisting on themselves. ‘I  …  I'm sorry. I know now you didn't rat on Bruin. I  … ' She trails off miserably.

‘That's all over, Twiss. I don't have time. None of us have time to worry about mistakes. We have to defeat Benedict. To stop him. He's the one who killed Bruin. It's his fault. Whoever betrayed the foundry workers may already be dead. If they're not, well, we'll find them sooner or later. But right now I have to get the Maker out of Asphodel. Marcus understood.'

Her shrewd eyes examine me. ‘What does Floster say?'

I can't afford to lie to the child. She's too sharp not to guess, and if I want her help I'll have to trust her completely. ‘She intends to attack the convoy taking the Maker back to his own. Try to stop Benedict that way. But it's too chancy. A band of thieves against the best warrior adepts in Asphodel?' I shake my head.

‘But if we get caught, that's the whole tribe done.'

‘No. I can block now, Twiss. I can go to Elsewhere. You saw me.'

‘I saw you nearly lose your soul!' Scorn. She sniffs. ‘Floster's right. You gotta train up. You ain't near ready.'

‘And that's where I need your help.'

‘No.'

‘Marcus can't do it, Twiss. You stopped him. So you've got to take his place. You owe me.'

Stubbornness all over her face, the hunch of her shoulders. She stares me out. My heart sinks.

‘I don't owe you to be an idiot and get yourself killed or worse,' she says.

I don't have a third plan. Twiss was my last hope. Unless I can learn to control my trips to Elsewhere, I can't risk going to Asphodel.

Aidan will have his mind crushed by my father and his body invaded. And then either he'll be killed in Floster's ambush or, when my father has achieved his aims, he'll discard Aidan's body and what's left of the Maker will die. I don't even try to hold off the pain. It's just. This is my punishment for letting myself love again. I have no hope left.

‘Go on, then,' I say. ‘Go away, Twiss.' My heart hurts hellishly; all of me hurts. The pain is just beginning and I'm barely holding on. When I have to let go I don't want an audience.

Nothing moves in the room, and at last I leave the tormenting pictures in my mind to look at the thief. She's watching me. ‘Go away,' I repeat. ‘Please.' I struggle not to shout at her. I need to be alone. To grieve.

‘You love him.' Her voice is surprised, shocked. ‘You love the Maker lad.'

‘Just go away.' My voice, my body is shaking. I whisper: ‘Piss off, Twiss.'

She laughs.

My frustration flares into fury and I leap to my feet. ‘That's it!' I'm shouting now. ‘Get out of here now, or I swear to Time, I'll make you.'

Twiss stands too; her stubbornness is back worse than ever. ‘You won't hurt me. You ain't got it in you.'

‘I don't have to hurt you to remove you from this room, Twiss. Don't forget what I am.'

‘I don't rightly know what you are,' she says. ‘But I've changed me mind. I'll help.'

Shock knocks the anger out of me. I sit down. Quickly. And stare at her until I think to shut my mouth. She's grinning, as though she's played a clever trick on me and expects praise and admiration.

‘Why?' I manage to ask. ‘What changed your mind?'

‘You love him,' she explains, shaking her head at the stupidity of the question. ‘I loved Bruin. You love the Maker. I done all I could to save Bruin.' The old shadow of grief flickers over her face but she carries on talking. ‘You helped me then so I'll help you now. And if we can get him out, then I pay back that bastard Benedict. So yeah. I'll help train you up quick, Zara. But only if I go with you to get the Maker.'

‘Two is even more dangerous than one. I go alone.'

‘Then I don't help.' She glowers at me, all her sudden cheerfulness vanished.

‘But  …  why?'

‘I swore.'

Two words, and her mouth shuts like a rat-trap. She doesn't have to tell me what she swore to the ghost of the blacksmith. I understand. I swore to my own ghost when I was younger than this girl.

‘All right, Twiss.' I take a deep breath, wondering, even as I promise, if I've just condemned another child to death. ‘We go together.'

‘Go where?'

We both, the thief and I, jerk our heads around to stare at the door. Philip stands on the threshold to the room, the open door behind him. I curse myself for not sticking it shut with magic. And think up a lie quickly: ‘To visit Marcus. Twiss wanted to make sure he's getting better.'

‘And apologise, possibly?' Philip's voice is dry. ‘Well she won't need you to go with her for that. Off you go, Twiss. I want a word with Zara.' He's watching me, his clear blue eyes seeing far too much. Damn the man!

‘Go on, Twiss. I'll find you later.'

She slips from the table and out of the room like a shadow, and Philip shuts the door with his usual precise movements, then goes to the cabinet to pour himself a beaker of mead. As I watch, he adds, one by one, the drops of poppy juice.

‘That isn't good for you.'

‘It helps free my mind to think. It's a tool, nothing more. Do you want some, Zara? To clear your mind?' He turns with a slight smile and knowledge in his eyes. ‘You and that child intend to run away and kill yourselves trying to rescue the Maker.' He isn't asking.

I keep my mouth firmly closed. Lying to this man is a fool's occupation. I wait. For there's more  … 

‘I should report you to Mistress Floster.'

I hold my breath.

‘But  … ' He takes a slow, savouring sip and focuses his eyes and mind on me, as though I am a problem he wants to solve. ‘I don't happen to agree with the Mistress. I fear our chance of successfully ambushing the convoy and killing the Maker is  …  small. We haven't the technology yet. Bows and arrows!' He clicks his tongue in disgust. ‘I need my crossbow manufactured. But there's no time to refine the design, let alone build it. I have  …  discussed my concerns with Mistress Floster. For reasons of security, we haven't told our plans to the rest of the Council, even though it seems impossible a non-thief could smuggle information out of the catacombs.'

‘You think one of them is the traitor!'

‘It's possible, Zara. If unpleasant to contemplate.'

‘You're wrong! It's Otter.'

He shakes his head. ‘Put him out of your mind, Zara. A distraction, no more. The traitor –
if
they are still alive – is a minor problem compared with stopping your father's assault on the Maker world. As I was saying, the Mistress remains convinced her plan will work. I cannot dissuade her. And so, much as it grieves me, I fear I must dissemble and join in your plot.'

‘You'll help me?'

‘There's little I can do, practically. But I won't tell Floster of your plans. On one condition.'

My heart sinks. This can't be good. ‘What condition?'

‘Do you remember Mirri? The archer who killed Archmage Aris then took her own life?'

I shudder. ‘Yes, of course.'

‘The poison she took was an alkaline supplied by our own dear Mistress of Apothecaries. You will take a sufficient supply with you.'

A chill of horror crawls up my spine as I remember the twisted, agonised face of the dead woman.

‘For yourself and Twiss, if you are in danger of capture,' Philip continues. ‘But more importantly, for the Maker.'

‘
What?
' But I don't need to ask. I understand only too well.

‘In case rescue is impossible. Then, child, you must kill him.'