Wings of Wrath (55 page)

I didn't really lie to them
, Kamala thought, flying toward Anukyat's Citadel.
I will do reconnaissance for them. I will just do other things as well.

Morati scouts had already taken the measure of the tower, thanks to Lazaroth's sorcery. Wearing borrowed wings, they had brought back enough information to allow Favias and Ullar to map out the company's best route of approach. But their observations were of limited scope, and therefore limited value. Magisters were used to shapechanging—it was a cornerstone of their art—and they could refine the flesh they wore into a fine-tuned creation that suited their needs exactly. Morati were not nearly so comfortable in animal form and sometimes did not adjust well to seeing the world through an animal's senses.

Kamala had other things to do here, private things, and so she had offered to back up their efforts with her own observations, once they got within range of the tower.

High overhead she soared now, until the trees were mere pinpoints beneath her. The land here was not like the forests surrounding Ethanus' mountain retreat, where she had first practiced shapechanging. That was a lush, green place where only the steepest cliffs and tallest peaks revealed any expanse of dirt or stone. This region was far less inviting. Trees were few and far between, and the kind of thick brush that her companions would have liked to use for cover was next to nonexistent near the Citadel itself.

Ramirus had cast a spell upon the company that would theoretically aid them in approaching the enemy's haven unseen . . . assuming it worked at all. And assuming it did not backfire. It was a subtle sorcery, which would not render them invisible per se, but would rather encourage any men who saw them to overlook their presence. Guards along the road would believe them to be fellow guards, unremarkable and uninteresting. And if someone spotted them while they were climbing the tower, in theory they would be mistaken for someone or something that would normally be hanging from the side of a tower. Kamala had her doubts about how well all that would work, but she understood the need for subtlety. If such a spell were scrambled by the Wrath, it was unlikely the result would threaten their mission. A spell of true invisibility that backfired, however, could become a beacon that drew the attention of every living being within miles. Better by far to play it safe and tread lightly in matters metaphysical than to risk some more dramatic failure.

Which meant that they all had to look like guards and act like guards in order to support Ramirus' sorcery. The less work there was for the spell to do, he had explained to them, the more likely it was to work. What he did not say—and what no one dared suggest—was that if the Wrath cancelled out his sorcery, or changed its effect entirely, their lives might well depend upon the quality of their subterfuge. A spell that kept them from being noticed, if warped by the Wrath, might draw attention to them instead.

With so few places in the area where they could take shelter, that was not a happy prospect.

Flying high over the desolate countryside, Kamala practiced speaking. It was harder than she had expected it to be. Normally when one took on an animal form one had an innate sense of how to control the body, but apparently that did not extend to such fine motor control as bird speech required. She had taken the precaution of transforming herself into a type of bird that was capable of imitating human speech—Ethanus had conjured one for her to study early in her apprenticeship—but without lips, teeth, or anything like a human tongue, it took her a while to figure out how to make it work. When she finally succeeded, the resulting speech was odd and screechy, with a quality not unlike fingernails on slate. Comprehensible, but far from pleasing.

She doubted her companions would care about aesthetics.

When she finally arrived at the Citadel she slowly circled above it a few times to see if anyone noticed her. No one did. It was hardly definitive proof that Ramirus' sorcery was operative, but given how rare large birds were in this region, it was a promising sign. Then, coming in behind the monument, where the Citadel's guards would be unable to see her, she flew in closer to the great rock to get a better look at it.

The morati scouts had focused upon the outer structure of the third Sister, collecting the kind of details that climbers would need to ascend to the top, making note of a few large openings that appeared to give access to an interior space. Uncomfortable in their borrowed avian flesh, however, they had deemed it too dangerous to risk going inside. But Kamala was more practiced in transformation, and was ready to do so. She had designed her feathers to be a perfect match to the weathered stone, so even if Ramirus' spell was not working, though such a disguise would not guarantee her safety, it brought the level of risk down to an acceptable level.

Which is what?
she wondered. Was she really risking her life for someone else's cause?

I am risking my life for knowledge,
she told herself sternly,
and the things that knowledge can buy. Nothing more.

Landing on a narrow ledge beside one of larger openings near the top, she waited a few minutes to see if anyone noticed her there—no one did—and then eased her way inside the structure. The window was naturally formed, a deep crack in the monument's surface that time and wind had widened, but the interior of the tower had clearly been carved out by a human hand. Probably by a sorcerer's hand, given the polished perfection of the work. That was only to be expected. Until recently the Wrath's effect had not reached this far south, so all things had been possible, including hollowing out a natural monument and outfitting it for human purposes.

The chamber she entered was round—perfectly round—and beams of sunlight poured in through the irregular openings about its circumference. Most of those natural windows were too narrow to admit a grown man, but she took note of several that might allow it. She also noted that the room as a whole offered a complete view of the land on the far side of the monument. That was not good news. Anukyat had not built an observational tower on this side of the Citadel because he'd had no need for one; the monument itself was his guard tower.

Not used very often,
she thought, making note of the thick layer of dust on the floor. A line of scuff marks led from the staircase to the nearest window and from there around the outside of the chamber, but they were old enough that fresh dust and dried leaves had begun to cover them up again. Clearly this place was not part of the Citadel's normal sentry rounds.

A stone spiral staircase came up through the floor in the center of the chamber. It was so narrow that only one man at a time would be able to ascend it while those defending the chamber could easily spread out and surround him. Kamala could see spears affixed to braces on the wall, awaiting the need for such action. Under normal circumstances that would not be good news for Kierdwyn's company, but in this case it could be turned to their advantage; if they could get control of this chamber themselves, it would be next to impossible for Anukyat's men to dislodge them.

Overhead there was a trap door leading upward with a ladder set beside it. Realizing that she would not be able to push the door open from below in her current body, Kamala slipped out the window again and sought access to the next level of the monument. There were natural windows up there as well, but these were much narrower; she didn't see any that were large enough to admit a grown man. So much for direct access.

Easing herself into one of the windows, alert for any sign or sound of human presence, she peered into the topmost chamber.

It was there.

Not until that moment would she have admitted to herself that she had doubted whether the legendary throne would actually be here, since they'd had no more than a thousand-year-old prophecy to point the way. But there it was, covered by a length of black oilskin, which in turn was blanketed by a layer of dust that looked centuries old, though the shape of the thing was clear enough. Taller than a man, with a back as broad as the outstretched reach of a warrior, it revealed just enough of its form through the covering that she could see it was a indeed a chair, and a massive one. She hungered to pull the covering off it so that she could see its details, but she knew there was no way to do that without disturbing the dust that coated it. Doing that now would risk the locals finding out that she had been here and perhaps drawing the obvious conclusion.

The floor of the room was likewise covered in dust, with old leaves and dried bird droppings all over the place. Clearly the upkeep of this chamber was not high on Anukyat's priority list. The bolt of the trapdoor was unlocked, but there were no tracks in the dust, nor any other sign that living men had visited the place in recent memory. It appeared that Anukyat's primary interest in the monument was as a guard tower, and he had taken no special precautions to protect the artifact it harbored. Why should he? Anyone who meant to storm the tower must take the Citadel first. Right?

She spent a few more minutes considering whether there was any way to get a look under the oilskin without leaving a telltale mark on the dusty film that covered everything, but finally decided against it. Exiting through a narrow window, she flew low about the monument, peeking into cracks and crevices as she went. The spiral staircase that dominated the Sister's interior was wide enough for comfort in most places, and maybe even for combat; it was only at the very top of its course that it narrowed, as it channeled men through the floor of the observation tower. She located a few natural windows that were big enough for her companions to pass through and took note of what they looked like from the outside. Then, with one last glance at the Citadel beneath her, she took to the open sky again, heading west instead of east, just in case anyone was watching. She could circle about to get back to her traveling companions later.

Now for her own private business.

It took her several hours to find a suitable subject for her experiment. Animals in this region were mostly tiny and nervous, and the species of bird she had used for her model was designed for gathering seeds, not hunting game. But finally, just as the sun began to drop below the western mountains, she spotted a nervous hare, and she settled down onto a nearby tree branch to watch him forage.

Shapechanging, Ethanus had taught her, was one of the most complex and dangerous spells to attempt. A body must not only be capable of sustaining life in its original form and its final form, but of sustaining life through every transitional form in between. The slightest miscalculation could result in death. All of which meant that such a spell was particularly lethal in this region. It didn't even matter exactly what effect the Wrath had upon such sorcery, or even if it was the same effect every time; any interference at all, of any kind, could make shapechanging a lethal enterprise.

Carefully she gathered her consort's athra to her, enough to fuel such a costly spell. Then, with the hare in her sights, she released it. In any other place, that spell would have transformed the small animal into another sort of creature. But here?

The animal's body contorted suddenly and a terrible sound came out of its throat, a sound no natural hare could have made. She watched as the small body became distended, distorted, its limbs twisting in on themselves, blood pouring from its eyes, ears, and mouth. The soft fur gave way to something pink and raw, with glistening gray coils protruding from gashes in its belly. Intestines? Fascinated, she had to remind herself just how much this experiment was costing her, and she regretfully she let the sorcery fade.

The hare—or what was left of the hare—was dead.

So. She was not without power here, after all.

Granted, it was a costly trick, which meant she could not perform it often. The last thing she wanted was to be forced into transition in this blighted region. Once her lifeline to her current consort was severed, her sorcery might not work well enough to find her a new one. No Magister had tested the power of the Wrath in that manner, and she did not mean to be the first.

But she was not helpless. Not any longer.

Savoring that thought, she took flight once more, anxious to rejoin her morati companions before the last of the day's light was gone.

The Seer's chamber was small and dark, with a heavy oak door that was bolted shut from the outside. For her own protection, of course. There was a small window set in the door through which one could see a room with few furnishings; its most noteworthy feature was a large canopied bed directly in its center. There was a woman in the bed at the moment, tossing and turning and mumbling in her sleep as if in the grip of a nightmare.

Anukyat waved for the door to be opened and stood to one side while a servant obeyed. The maidservant who had brought him to the room waited behind him, her hands twisting nervously in her apron.