Wings of Wrath (54 page)

Test me if you like,
she thought defiantly. Bracing herself to channel the fire in her soul.
I am ready for you
.

But Colivar's eyes passed over her with maddening disinterest and fixed upon Gwynofar instead. “I bring you news from the eastern front, Majesty. Your son has mobilized his armies and is moving them toward the Skandir border. It would appear that he has his own ideas about who the real enemy is.”

The color bled from Gywnofar's face, but her expression did not falter. “You are sure of this?”

“I am. And Ramirus has confirmed it.”

“Then why did he not come here himself to tell us that? Or send Lazaroth?”

He chuckled coldly. “Hard as it may be to accept that Ramirus and I are allied in this matter, I assure you that is the case. As for Lazaroth, he was concerned that you might be too close to the Wrath by now for sorcerous transportation to be safe. So I volunteered.” A faint, sardonic smile curled his lips. “Perhaps I am less afraid of ‘the curse of the gods' than most of my kind.”

“The line between courage and recklessness is sometimes thin,” Kamala murmured.

“Indeed.” The black eyes fixed on her. For one brief moment he allowed her to see the power that was behind them, and to catch the echoes of all dark and terrible things that lurked in their depths. “You are the one they call Kamala, yes? I would not wish to mistake you for someone else.”

“It is my name,” she said, refusing to be baited.

“I thought you would have taken on wings by now. Wasn't that the plan?” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are afraid of using your power this close to the Wrath? Concerned that as a
witch
you are not up to the challenge?” Shadows of mockery hung about the term, along with an unvoiced subtext:
we both know that is not what you are.
“If so, I would be glad to assist you. I assure you my sorcery is . . . trustworthy.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, “but I thought I would wait until we got closer to our target. You might not want to be casting spells there yourself. I hear it's quite dangerous.”

There was no telling what his response might have been had not Gwynofar stepped between them at that moment. “Thank you for the report, Magister Colivar. I am so sorry we cannot offer you better hospitality right now, but as you can see, we are getting ready to ride out.” She held out her hand to him, smiling with the kind of polished radiance that noblewomen spent years working to perfect. “Please do give Magisters Ramirus and Lazaroth my best, and assure them we will return to them soon.”

For a moment Colivar's expression was unreadable. Then, with a courtly nod he accepted her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it gently. “Of course, Your Majesty. And I am sure they will be grateful for the reassurance.”

The air behind him began to ripple once more as he released her hand; his eyes met Kamala's for a moment—she nodded graciously, trying to make her own smile suitably enigmatic—and then a step backward brought him within range of the portal spell. Swiftly he vanished from their sight. A moment later the breezes settled back into their normal pattern and there was no sign of his ever having been present save for a few horses that nickered uneasily, clearly less than happy about people that appeared and disappeared in front of them.

Kamala didn't realize how fast her heart had been beating until he was gone. Shutting her eyes, she tried to quiet her spirit once more.

“You are either very brave or very foolish,” Gwynofar told her, once the others had turned back to their business.

Both,
Kamala thought.

But Colivar had been right. The time for riding on horseback along with the rest of this company had passed. Last night she had felt the first stirring of fear in her brain, presaging the nightmares to come. Soon, now, her sorcery would become unstable. Soon any attempt to shapechange might well backfire on her and cause her irreparable damage. The time for delay had ended.

Clasping Rhys' hand for a moment (and how much communion was in that touch, without the need for words to be spoken!) she stepped away from the others, into an open space, and summoned the power to her. Bidding it envelop her body, uncreate her human flesh, and craft something else in its place. Her new feathered wings were broad and soft; they would be silent in approaching the Citadel. Her new eyes were sharp and focused. Her talons were long and sharp, powerful enough to tear flesh to pieces, sensitive enough to carry an egg without breaking it. It was not her usual choice of bird form but it was the one best suited to the final phase of this journey, and that was what mattered most. And if her skin was tougher than the skin of this seed-eating species should have been, her muscles stronger, her talons sharper . . . well, that was just good design work. The fact that shapechanging required some sort of natural template to follow did not mean that nature's rules could not be prodded a bit.

With a short cry she flapped her wings, took to the air, and rose up swiftly into the bright morning sky.

The Magister stood alone in the early morning light, his long black robes stirred by an occasional restless breeze. Even without sorcery he could make out the distant sound of a horse's approach and while he might have been tempted in any other place to enhance his senses and gather more information about it, he was too close to the Citadel right now to chance it. Mere human hearing would have to do.

He waited.

The sound was coming close enough now for him to make out individual hoofbeats and he could see the shape of a single rider approaching. Only one. That was a curious choice, he thought. Not what he had expected. But then, the Master Guardian of Alkali was an eccentric sort.

The Magister called his birds to him; the air shimmered with sorcery briefly to one side of him and a few seconds later a wooden crate appeared. The birds inside were silent, their incessant cooing muted by the shock of sorcerous transportation. A pleasant change from their normal chatter.

Then the rider pulled up his horse right in front of the box, setting them to beating their wings in panic. It got them nowhere, of course.

“Magister Thelas?”

It seemed to him a foolish question under the circumstances, but he nodded.

Anukyat dismounted smoothly, his booted feet raising dust as they hit the ground. “Your messenger arrived but two hours ago. Cutting it close, yes?”

“Events move quickly,” Thelas said. “Especially in wartime.”

“That does not sound good.”

“It is not.” The birds were starting to scratch at their crate. Hardly a surprise. Animals hated this place. “Salvator is moving his armies east, to the Skandir border. It would appear that he means to go after those who ravaged Soladin.”

“Well, that is good news, yes? Just what the Lord Protector wanted.”

“It would be good news,” he agreed, “if it were true.”

Anukyat breathed in sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently the leader of the campaign carries sealed orders from King Salvator, that no man has yet read. Sealed by witchery in addition to more common methods, so that it cannot even be read from a distance, nor its purpose divined.”

“But you managed to do so, yes? Else we would not be standing here.”

Alkali's Magister Royal nodded. “When Salvator's troops reach the place where Skandir's border abuts our own, they will learn that their true target is Alkali. By then they be within easy march of several key cities, with access to the whole of the eastern plateau—”

“And those cities have already sent their garrisons west to face off against Kierdwyn's men.”

“Exactly.”

“So Aurelius and Kierdwyn are working together.”

The Magister's expression was grim. “You promised Alkali's Lord Protector that was not going to happen.”

He bit back a sharp retort. “That promise came from another. I told His Lordship that.”

“It matters little, once the promise is broken.”

“And assigning blame wins us no battles.” He waved his hand, dismissing the subject. “So what is it you want from me, Thelas? I am sure you did not come all the way out here just for a friendly chat. What does His Lordship require of the Guardians?”

“The eastern threat must be removed. Or at the very least delayed long enough for him to deal with the threat from Kierdwyn.”

Anukyat's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And how do I fit into this?”

“You have men here. More than you need.”

He hissed softly. “My men are not common soldiers.”

“No,” the Magister agreed. “They are elite soldiers, specially skilled at operating in small groups, and at range. Such men could be especially useful in this matter.”

“The road to the Spear must be protected. Our ally demands that much.”

“So keep enough men with you to handle that task. The rest go south.” He smiled dryly. “Never fear, we will keep your units separate, and not mix them with . . .
common
soldiers.” The condescension in his voice was unmasked.

“This is not wise,” Anukyat said quietly.

“That is not your call to make,” the Magister responded. “Nor mine. Once we cede to princes the right to rule us, we owe them obedience until another that is more qualified takes their place. So if you wish to take the throne for yourself,” he said dryly, “now is the time. If not, then I will expect your men to meet me here tomorrow at daybreak, when I will see to their transportation.”

“With sorcery?” He scowled. “That is risky, is it not?”

“In large numbers, aye. You will most likely lose a few men along the way. But there is no time for slower measures, so make your peace with it.” The Magister reached down and picked up the crate of birds. “You can use these to send any urgent messages you may have.”

“Homing pigeons?” He took the crate and hefted it to eye level, glaring at the birds. “You really think they will keep their bearing in this region? Even men can barely stand this place, and they get paid to be here.”

“They are but simple birds, bearing the marks of my sorcery. When you release one from the Citadel it will make for the south with all due haste, terrified by what lies in the other direction. As soon as it comes within range I will call it to me. Far more efficient than any human messenger could be, under the circumstances.” He paused. “Not to mention, a bird can deliver its message alive or dead.”

“So when do I get my men back?”

“When Salvator decides this is not a war he wishes to fight, so that the Lord Protector can focus his attention on the western front.”

Anukyat smiled darkly. “Salvator is a son of the monastery; he has no stomach for war. And he has no Magister to help him fight it. It should be easy enough to frighten him away.”

“Let us hope so. For your sake.” The Magister's eyes narrowed. “This war began with your revelation and was nurtured by your counsel. It would not be a good thing for you if the Lord Protector decided he had been ill advised.”

Anukyat stiffened. “Is it
ill advised
to answer an ancient wrongdoing? To aid our abandoned brothers in their vengeance?”

Thelas raised a hand to silence him. “Save your arguments for the Lord Protector. I am only his messenger in this matter.” Then he waved his hand at the empty space beside him and the air began to shift and shimmer once more. The horse neighed sharply and tried to move away from the sorcerous display, but Anukyat was holding the reins and so he could not go far.

“I will expect your men in the morning,” Thelas said. And then he stepped into the portal and was gone.

Anukyat waited until the spell faded completely before he finally vented his fury, cursing the Magister, the Lord Protector, and most of all the pitiful monk Salvator who thought he was a real king. The curse was complex and colorful and it ran through half a dozen languages, among them an ancient dialect of Kannoket that had not been spoken this far south of the Wrath for nearly a thousand years.

Nyuku would not be pleased by all this, he thought darkly.

Nyuku would not be pleased at all.