Winter Be My Shield (44 page)

Sierra shook her head. ‘I can manage 'til we get there. I don't know what happened to mine. I looked but I couldn't find it.'

‘I'm sure we'll be able to find you a spare,' Mira said.

They spoke of small things as Cam led the way back, although later Sierra couldn't remember what. The power, which still filled her mind with its languorous hum, seemed to chase all other thoughts from her head.

At the edge of the blasted land, the snow was piled up in a huge drift encircling the village: a blast of great force had thrown it there. Cam had brought an extra pair of snowshoes for her; they trudged back along the path and Sierra felt her head clear as the cold began to assert itself and the energy she still held was diverted to keeping her warm.

They reached the camp just as a long line of horsemen emerged from the trees at a canter. ‘By the Black Sun, they made good time,' Cam said as he squinted through the gloom. ‘But that's a good deal fewer than a thousand men.'

‘Just an advance party,' Mira agreed. ‘They must have split again when Hassarec reached them to pass on the news.'

As they reached the gate one of the men hailed her as Lady Mirasada and the line halted to let them pass through. Close up Sierra could see that each of the men wore a sash in the Wolf Clan's colours and the horse-gear was all stamped with their emblem. Cam and Mira flanked her as they entered the camp and Sierra saw heads turn to follow her as she passed by. A sudden flash of nerves saw her power rise and Sierra
didn't bother to quell it, letting the blue sparks spill and writhe over her skin. She could feel the wounded nearby feeding her power with every heartbeat, and after the events of this night she didn't care to speculate on what might happen if she tried to suppress it again.

By the time they reached the centre of the camp, Ardamon was waiting for them alongside a powerfully built man with thick black hair and a close-cropped beard, both streaked with grey. His eyes flickered over Sierra before he turned to Mira. ‘Mirasada.'

‘Uncle,' Mira said and bowed.

‘And Cammarian. Every time I see you, boy, you look more like your mother.'

‘Sir.' Cam made him a bow but from the stiffness of his posture Sierra could tell he wasn't pleased.

‘Hmph,' Dremman said. ‘I suppose I shouldn't call a man of your years “boy”.'

‘Just Cam will do, sir, if you don't mind.'

‘Good to see you don't take after Valeria in temperament.'

‘I believe I have my foster-father to thank for that, sir.'

‘No doubt.' Dremman turned back to Sierra.

She returned his gaze with her hands clasped behind her back. He was a man accustomed to the deference due his rank, she judged, and saw in him the same arrogance that had irritated her in Mira and Ardamon. It reminded her of Kell's supercilious air and the way he expected everyone to fawn and tremble before him.

‘And here, at last, is our fugitive sorcerer,' Dremman said. ‘Miss Sierra, how do you fare?'

‘Well enough, sir,' Sierra said. She didn't want to repeat the same mistakes that had put her and Mira at each other's throats, but she'd be cursed if she would humble herself and beg for shelter. Sierra wasn't sure exactly what it was that had changed Mira's attitude, but she was willing to wager Dremman shared his clan's distrust of anything associated with mage-craft.

‘On my authority as war-leader and on behalf of the Wolf Clan, let me welcome you as an honoured guest of my clan, Miss Sierra. I understand this evening has been very taxing for you. While there is much to discuss I see no reason to burden you with it. I'm sure my son can find adequate quarters for you … You there,' he said, gesturing to a pair of warriors
who were awaiting orders off to one side. ‘Escort the lady to the lodgings Ardamon selects and make sure she is not disturbed.'

‘My lord uncle, it's only thanks to Sierra that we weren't slaughtered or enslaved,' Mira said, but Dremman waved her to silence.

‘Do not imagine this is an insult, child,' Dremman said. ‘Common folk and soldiers both are a superstitious lot and in our current situation I would not tempt the wrath of the Gods by permitting harm to come to an honoured guest. Until the rest of my men arrive and everyone here understands the situation it would be better for the lady to remain out of sight.'

Sierra felt a chill creep over her flesh as he spoke, but she knew it was pointless to object. Arguing would get her nowhere and flexing her power right now would risk a repeat of what had happened in the village. She wouldn't do that when this camp and its abandoned gear was the only shelter available to those she had made homeless.

‘I understand, sir,' she said. ‘But I will need my gear brought to me. There are  … certain items in my packs that I took from Kell which would be dangerous if handled incorrectly. You had best advise your people not to meddle with them.'

‘I'll see to it, Uncle, if you please,' Mira said.

Dremman nodded with the appearance of magnanimous acceptance, but Sierra couldn't tell if it was genuine or if he had taken her words as a warning.

With a bow Mira hurried away, signalling her serving-women to follow her. Only Cam remained, and as Sierra followed Ardamon away she heard him say through gritted teeth, ‘If I may have your permission to withdraw, sir, I'd like to have a quick word with Sierra.'

‘I'm glad you recognise that if you wish to remain here you must place yourself under my command, Cammarian,' Dremman said. ‘You may have a few moments but return here quickly. There is much to be done.'

Ardamon showed her to an empty tent so newly erected that the floor of salvaged spruce hadn't yet been laid out over the trampled snow.

Cam followed her in, ducking through the flap as the guards took up position outside. ‘Sirri, for the love of life, don't do anything hasty —'

‘What kind of a fool do you take me for?' Her power snapped as she turned around. A thick worm of light leapt from her shoulder to the ground, shifting restlessly as it hummed through the air. ‘The only way
to free Isidro is with the help of the Wolf Clan and their men. Do you think I'd endanger that?'

‘After this night I'm not sure what you'll do. Fires Below, Sirri, each time you loose your power it's bigger than the last. Will it keep growing like this, escalating each time?'

Sierra looked away. ‘I don't know. I didn't expect it to happen like that.'

There was silence for a long moment, broken at last as Mira came in carrying Sierra's pack. ‘I brought it myself so you can be sure everything is there. I've set my women to finding a new coat for you and rounding up some things to make this place more comfortable. I'll see what I can do to make sure we sleep here too, so you don't have to spend all your time alone …'

‘Thank you,' Sierra said. ‘And can you get a message to Rhia? Tell her I'll help with the wounded if she wants.'

‘I will, and I'll work on Uncle, too. It might take a few days, though …' Looking harried, Mira ducked out again.

‘So you're not upset about this?' Cam said to her.

‘I wouldn't say that, but I
am
tired and I could use a few hours' rest. And although I may not have demonstrated it particularly well, I do know how to bide my time. This is all a game, but I'm prepared to play along with it for now.'

‘Alright then,' Cam said, hooking his thumbs into his sash. ‘I'll do what I can to keep you informed of what's going on.'

‘Thank you.'

Mira was true to her word — within half an hour her women had the tent set up with a stove, hot water, a basic kitchen kit and bedding. They also brought lanterns but Sierra didn't bother to light them. Once they had left she created a light of her own and pulled out two of the white stones she'd collected while wandering the ruined village. She rattled them in her palm and wished she had Isidro's sensitivity to the delicate network of power that made up an enchantment. Her own power was too crude and heavy a tool for such fine work, but she was certain these stones had some affinity for power.

Rasten
? she said, casting the thought out into the air.

He was there instantly in a flood of relief.
Sierra! I've been waiting for you to call me again. What happened?

Oh, we won. The Akharians who survived it fled. Now Dremman is here.

He gave the psychic equivalent of an indrawn breath.
You want to watch out for that one
, Rasten said.
He's as mercenary as they come.

I can handle him,
she said.
There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. A while ago you said that you would teach me how to use my power.

Yes
, he said.

Sierra stared at the plain walls of the tent. It smelled of men and sweat. She had a new fur hanging from the ridge-pole to air. It still smelled of its last owner, one of the men who had died. It was the only place a spare could have come from after the village burned.

Dremman wouldn't want to keep her around, not once he'd seen what she could do if pushed into action. The question was, would he sell her back to Kell or would he dream up some other fate for her?

When can we begin
? she asked.

Whenever you wish.

Six weeks later

Isidro was reaching for the flap of the tent when he heard a girl's voice sound from within in a cry of surprise.

‘Tigers take him,' he muttered in Ricalani and dropped the bag he was carrying to unhook the mage-lantern from the tip of the ridge-pole. Holding it in front of him he ducked through the opening. ‘What's going on here?' he said in Akharian, doing his best to suppress his Ricalani accent and mimic Harwin's manner of speech.

One of the teamsters had cornered Lucia against the back of the tent, where she had been laying down an armful of spruce for the tent floor.

The mage-lantern was brighter than any candle or oil-lamp. As the light streamed over him the teamster flinched and paused in the act of untying his sash. He turned with wide eyes and then narrowed them again when he saw it was a slave who had interrupted him and not the girl's owner.

In his moment of inattention Lucia tried to dodge past him but the teamster grabbed her arm and hauled her back. He was short like most Akharians, but he was used to loading and unloading sleds and dealing with baulky oxen day in and day out. One gangly fifteen-year-old was no match for him.

‘The girl has work to do, sir,' Isidro said. ‘As do you, I'm sure.'

Lucia scowled and shifted her stance. She was in perfect range to knee the teamster in the balls, but if she struck a free man Harwin would have no choice but to have her flogged. Technically the teamster had no right to lay hands on another man's property, but if he claimed innocence the testimony of two slaves would be worthless against him.

The teamster fumbled in his sash and pulled out a coin, which he flipped in Isidro's direction. ‘This is none of your business, boy. Go find something else to do for a few minutes.'

The coin landed at his feet. Isidro ignored it. He hooked the lantern to the chain already hanging from the ridge-pole and swept the tent flap back.

He had intended it only so that anyone passing by would be able to see in and maybe act as witnesses if Lucia did shove his balls into his belly for him. Instead he pulled the flap open to reveal Delphine striding up to the tent. She hesitated for a moment, then narrowed her eyes and strode in. ‘Get away from him, Lucia, you don't know where he's been. And as for you,' she said, fixing her gaze on the teamster, ‘if you damage Professor Harwin's slave he'll take the value of her out of your salary. Now come with me. There's a trunk of books I need brought into the tent.'

Glowering, the teamster shoved Lucia away, sending her sprawling onto the pile of spruce. Isidro stepped out of the way before the teamster could blunder into him and jolt his broken arm. ‘Don't forget your coin, sir,' he said and, red-faced, the man stooped to snatch it up.

‘I believe you are familiar with my tent,' Delphine told him. ‘My students will tell you which trunk we require.' She watched him go and once he was out of earshot turned to Lucia with a shake of her head. ‘Are you hurt, girl? No? Well then I suppose there's no harm done. If this keeps up your master's going to have to find you a chastity belt.'

‘That teamster's been sniffing around her for days, madame,' Isidro said.

‘Has he? I'll mention it to Harwin. If he makes a complaint he might be able to get the wretched fellow reassigned. Here, Aleksar, tell Professor Harwin I will bring my girls here for dinner so we can make an early start on the evening's work. There's a lot that must be done before we reach Milksprings.'

Aleksar was the slave-name she had given him. ‘Yes, madame,' he said. She gave him a narrow look and left before he could work out if she was amused by his courtesy or suspicious of it.

Once she was gone Lucia sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve.

‘Are you alright?' Isidro asked.

Lucia just shrugged. ‘I had worse in the slave camps before Harwin picked me out. It's better now that you're around all the time. I'd best get those stakes in to hold the stove, but then will you help me carry it in?'

With only one good hand he was of limited help to her in setting up the tent but since she had to do all the work on her own before he came, Lucia was happy for any help at all.

‘I've been hearing tales about you,' she told him in an undertone as they settled the heavy stove onto the three green-wood stakes she had driven into the snow.

‘Oh?' he said.

‘The women who brought the wood told me,' Lucia said. The camp needed a phenomenal amount of fuel and the Akharians usually gave the task of cutting it to women with young children or nurselings, who they believed were less likely to try to escape or to turn the axes against their captors. ‘They said you were bedding a sorcerer back at Drysprings.'

Isidro held his breath, listening for the sound of boots in the snow outside. Since they were alone and no one was here to forbid it, they were speaking in Ricalani, but that was no guarantee of safety.

‘Folk have been saying she's the one who drove that legion off,' Lucia said. ‘I told 'em you said it was the Bloodletter's Apprentice, but they just laughed and said I should ask you about her.'

‘This is a dangerous topic of conversation, Lucia,' Isidro said. ‘Did anyone hear you talking about this? There must have been guards watching them.'

‘Oh, we were talking Ricalani. They can't understand us.'

‘Are you sure of that? You know Harwin and Delphine have picked up a bit of our language. What makes you think the other men haven't done the same?'

Lucia frowned. ‘B-but the other women weren't worried about that —'

‘Then they're fools,' Isidro said. ‘Do you have any idea what the Slavers would do if they thought there was another mage in Ricalan and we had information about her?' He ran a hand over his splinted arm. ‘I thought you would have seen enough of torture to learn some caution.'

Lucia's eyes widened. ‘So it's true, then?'

‘That's not what I said. Fires Below, Lucia, what do you think they would do to a girl like you if they thought you had information they wanted? This is too dangerous for idle gossip, do you understand?'

‘That's what one of the women said. But then someone else said you were a traitor. She said we should tell the guards about you and that other mage to punish you for being a turncoat. The other women told her to keep her mouth shut and if the other mage could kill half a legion
she might be able to help us — and it wasn't worth the risk to punish you. They said I should ask you about it.'

‘Tell them this,' Isidro said. ‘If there is another mage out there who might help us, then the most important thing we can do is keep the Akharians from finding out about her. And by the Black Sun, tell them to cursed well stop talking about it or sooner or later someone will sell the information to the Akharians for an extra fur or a crust of bread.'

The girl nodded, eyes as wide as saucers.

Of course it might not help at all. If the Akharians found out about Sierra and that Isidro had information about her, things would get very ugly. They would do anything to make him talk and Rasten would do anything to keep him silent. It was the only situation Isidro could imagine in which he and Rasten would have the same goal.

‘If there is another mage … she'll need Vasant's books, won't she?' Lucia said. ‘But the Akharians are going to find them first. Everyone is saying so.'

‘Maybe,' Isidro said. ‘We won't know until we get to Well-of-Poisons.'

Harwin returned just as they were bringing in the last of the gear and once he heard the tale he insisted on examining Lucia's arm himself, though there was nothing more than a fading red mark where the teamster had grabbed her. Harwin treated his slaves with the same fond indulgence he would show a pet and, although he was a perfectionist who insisted that everything be done to his minute specifications, the worst punishment he delivered was an extensive rant of invective that was beyond Lucia's limited grasp of Akharian. Harwin had no interest in sharing his furs with women, an orientation considered scandalous at best and criminal at worst. He had chosen Lucia as much for a decoy as for a servant, but most of the men in the camp knew this was the case.

Delphine had told Isidro all this when she'd brought him to the Collegium quarter on the night he had agreed to be her translator. Delphine couldn't accommodate him herself. She shared her tent with her two young students and a slave-girl of her own and housing a male slave was simply out of the question. Since the black pall of despair still overtook him at times she refused to leave him unsupervised in one of the Collegium's storage tents and had talked Harwin into watching over him instead. She had warned him of Harwin's preferences, only to reassure him that Harwin was not the sort to force himself on anyone.

That was the first evidence Isidro had seen of Delphine's keen powers of observation. Isidro knew he couldn't defend himself against a mage, even one as soft and mild as Harwin, and he couldn't predict how he would react if someone tried to use him as Rasten had. Just thinking about it threatened to bring the memories back and overwhelm him with a helpless fury and despair.

Delphine and her two students arrived for the evening meal, making the tent bright and cosy with the warmth of many bodies. Along with bright and sunny Alameda, there was dark-haired and studious Fontaine, who had made it her task to improve Isidro's Akharian. Lucia knew how to make herself agreeable and served them all with bows and smiles before dishing up food for herself and Isidro and joining him in the slaves' place in the draught by the door. Once the meal was eaten, she busied herself with cleaning up, while the rest of them got to work.

Translating was a tedious business. Isidro didn't speak Akharian well enough to transcribe directly from Ricalani. Instead he translated it into Mesentreian which, thanks to Cam and his father, he spoke like a mother tongue. Then Delphine's students translated from Mesentreian to Akharian, before she or Harwin went through it with him to compare the new text with the original and make sure the translation was accurate.

The texts he was translating were the books and records the Akharian mage, Caltoreas Barranecour, had collected during the War of the Mages, as well as the various texts and chronicles the Akharians had captured in temple raids. The latter had proved as fruitless as Isidro had predicted when Delphine explained she wanted him to search for any mention of Vasant or the other Ricalani mages. The history books had all been expunged of any flattering mention of mage-craft following Leandra's victory. Only her version of events had been recorded in Ricalan, but Barranecour's records held more information. It was a fascinating glimpse of history for Isidro, who had only ever heard the official account, but there was little there that Delphine hadn't already gleaned from other sources.

Isidro was just settling down with Delphine to go through the latest translation when someone rang the bell that hung from the ridge-pole outside to allow visitors to announce themselves. Lucia bounced to her feet to unlace the door flap and bowed deeply as the visitor stooped to
enter. Isidro's stomach lurched at the flash of red uniform and the close-cropped hair customary among the Battle-Mages. He knew who it was even before he saw the man's face — Delphine's cousin, Torren.

‘Delphi, I need your slave for the evening,' Torren said, brushing snow from his shoulders and onto the spruce floor.

Delphine closed her waxed tablet with a snap. ‘Torren, we've talked about this. I have work to do, too, you know. I would appreciate a little notice.'

‘And I've given it to you when I can, but this is important. It's about the legion that was wiped out in the south.'

Delphine sighed and fluffed her dark curls. ‘Oh, very well then, but try not to keep him out all night. The general says we'll be at the temple within a week and I have a lot to do before then.' To Isidro, she said, ‘Get your coat.'

‘Yes, madame.'

Torren waited impatiently while Isidro pulled on his fur, his mittens and his boots, then snapped the manacle of a slave-chain around his wrist, blindfolded him and led him out into the cold.

The metal was warm and it hummed faintly against his skin. That was an invention of Alameda's, who was skilled with enchantments despite her youth. She'd invented it after one of these trips had frozen the metal to his skin, and Torren, too impatient to let it warm and come loose on its own, had simply pulled it free and taken a layer of skin with it. Now at least he didn't risk frostbite every time the Battle-Mages wished to question him.

He was allowed some limited freedoms in the Collegium quarter but he was never taken out of the academics' little enclave without being masked. The Akharians were still very much aware of the fact that Rasten could invade his mind at any time and use him to spy on them. In this way, information such as the layout of the Akharian camp and the number of their troops was hidden from him.

The interrogations had slackened after the first week or so of his enslavement, but had begun all over again following the rout in the south. They always began the same way, with the mage collecting him from Harwin's tent, then leading him on a disorienting and chilling march through the camp. In the early days that alone had left him exhausted and in pain, but the good food and rest Delphine had promised
had let him regain some strength and the enchantments Alameda had made finally let the shattered bones begin to heal, even if the harsher interrogations periodically set him back. He still moved cautiously, but one bad step was no longer enough to bring him to a faint. Physically he was the strongest he'd been since the duke had captured him in the village.

He recognised the atmosphere of the interrogation tent the moment they led him through the door. It was warmer within and heady with the smell of spruce and smoke. When rough hands shoved him to the floor he was ready for it, and fought to keep himself from tensing as they stripped his coat from him and bound his hands behind his back again, wrapping the ropes over the splints and stones that supported his broken arm. It was always the same, and familiarity had given him the means to deal with the powerlessness and the fear. When they hauled him up onto his knees Isidro already felt as though he was watching all this from some remote point, a detached and dispassionate observer.