“Cage what you fear, and when it escapes it will consume you utterly!” A tongue of flame crackled from the mage’s mouth as he spoke in an inferno roar.
Tuvaini could smell his hair smouldering. His skin felt tight, scorched before the heat, and yet some force held him so he couldn’t turn away.
Fire spilled from Govnan’s hands and ran wild over the stone floor; bright rivers encircled Tuvaini.
“Govnan!” Tuvaini fought down hysteria and put command into his voice.
For a moment the heat built, and then it broke. The flames died, and Govnan slumped in his chair, smoke wafting from his lips. “My apologies.” The high mage spoke in little more than a whisper. “Ashanagur has grown strong. Sometimes he takes offence and slips my bonds to voice his will.”
“It-It has a name?” Tuvaini said.
“He has a name.” Govnan inclined his head. “And he will have a life beyond me. But you didn’t come here to discuss the mysteries of the Tower. What would you have us do about Prince Sarmin?”
“Why did you insist Sarmin be spared the Knife?” Tuvaini asked.
“It was High Mage Kobar who-”
“Kobar is a rock. I passed him in the hall below. You tell me,” Tuvaini said.
“He has about him that quality we seek for the Tower.” Govnan gripped the arms of his chair and pulled himself straight.
“The Tower cannot recruit among the emperor’s family.” Tuvaini recoiled from the very idea.
“Once upon a time we did-it was a royal prince who founded this Tower, and Alakal himself was the grandson of an emperor. The royal family now consider it beneath them to serve, but if Sarmin were trained, he might make such a mage as has not been seen in three generations. Such a resource cannot be thrown away lightly. A time may come when the emperor has need of such talents. A similar provision was made in the time of the emperor’s grandfather, though that child was lost in the chaos of the
Yrkman War.”
“Why did Kobar not say this when he demanded Sarmin’s survival?” Govnan shrugged. “I cannot know Kobar’s mind, but it is clear that the more potential a weapon is felt to have, the more hands will turn to lift it.” “Well, this particular weapon of yours is mad,” Tuvaini said. “He cannot be trusted to act in anybody’s interest, not even his own. He sees treachery in every corner, and twists honest words into conspiracy.”
Govnan fixed him with knowing eyes-too knowing. “If he twists your words, then speak none to him. You’ve wished him dead, buried him alive, so leave him be. If all is well with the empire he will die in that room of his, unknown and unmourned.”
“All is not well, and yet there he remains.” Sarmin is of no more use to the Tower than he is to me.
“No.” Govnan stood with care. “All is not well.”
“Your servant-” Tuvaini realised the young mage had never supplied her name. “She said the Tower protects the emperor from harm that doors cannot keep out. I know differently.”
“Mura speaks with the certainty of youth.” Govnan stepped towards Tuvaini, walking with an old man’s shuffle.
Tuvaini backed away, his skin still hot with the memory of elemental rage.
“We do not speak of a common plague. There is an enemy behind this-I sense his hand. The Carriers are his tools.” Tuvaini heard the tremble in his own words; he feared the truth he had come to seek.
“An enemy? Yes, and we of the Tower fight him every day. We work to stay his hand; we work to keep him from claiming pieces for his game.
A wall has been built around Beyon since the day of his father’s death, a wall of enchantment like no other we have ever fashioned, but these are strange magics we fight. They are subtle and insidious, and in such a game the might of elementals may be circumvented. We stand at an edge now, a precipice, perhaps. Our wall is crumbling.”
It will bury them all, Beyon, Govnan and Arigu. “I must return to the palace,” said Tuvaini. “Meanwhile I expect you to focus on your work. I hope the empire will not crumble through your incompetence.”
Govnan smiled. “No. It will not.”
Tuvaini swept from the room. His hands were trembling, but he made sure Govnan couldn’t see as he rushed down the Tower steps. He passed the statue of Kobar without a glance.
Sarmin would be of no assistance. It was time for Tuvaini to find out what his Red Hall bargain would yield. If he could not find an heir, one who was not mad or dying, all was lost. Satreth the Reclaimer had not driven the Mogyrk faith from this land only to have his own gods turn their backs four generations later. Blood had been shed for the papers he sought, the papers that held the key to the empire. He thought of Eyul holding his Knife, the blood on the floor by the fountain. It would be worth it. It must be worth it.
He passed the young mage, Mura, without a glance and hurried into the sunlight. Soon he would know.
Chapter Eight
Eyul scanned the horizon. What had looked to be a mere line in the distance now rose high enough to measure against his thumb. The Cliffs of Sight, with their sheer walls and flat tops, looked like clay bricks from the great dune where Eyul sat on his camel. They would reach the hermit in a day, maybe two.
Amalya stopped her camel beside his and waited. She spoke only when necessary, except during their dawn and evening meals, when they would share mundane details about the Tower and the palace, or swap some childhood anecdote. Eyul had grown accustomed to her companionship over the last weeks. At this time of night, with morning drawing near, he became impatient to make camp.
It wasn’t unfamiliar, enjoying a woman’s company, but Amalya was an unfamiliar sort of woman. In Eyul’s world, females belonged either to the palace or the Maze. The women of the palace sashayed around in their silk and pearls, building schemes for revenge or entertainment. In the Maze, hunger drove women to please. But no matter whether noble or streetborn, women were dependent on men for all their needs; they kept to their own sphere. Amalya, on the other hand, moved without censure from city to desert, spoke with boldness and honesty, and walked under the aegis of the royal family. Of all the women Eyul had known, only Beyon’s mother had similar confidence-but even Nessaket could not leave the palace. “Why are you smiling?” asked Amalya.
Feeling a fool, he scratched the whiskers on his chin. “Almost there,” he said.
She looked beyond him to the cliffs. “Distance is hard to measure on the sands.” They were so high up that dunes tall as towers looked like ripples on the ocean.
“I’ve been there before. Two days at the outside.”
“Bad luck. Don’t predict.”
Having no rejoinder, Eyul pointed to the north-east. “If I remember rightly, there is a well not far from where we stand. We can camp there.” He led the way and they reached the top of the dune, their eyes still fixed on the narrow line of the cliffs. His camel shifted, and sand slithered down into the shadows.
Amalya shook her head.
“No? Too far out of the way?” He surprised himself, being so solicitous of her opinion.
“No.” She shook her head again, fiercely, as if shaking something off. Her hand clutched at her throat and she hissed, “Flesh comesThere are… people-”
– five of them, hidden beyond the dune’s crest Eyul jumped off his camel, bow in hand, as the first man surged up the remaining yards between them. Blank of eye, his face patterned like a fine rug, he reached the crest of the dune on all fours. Eyul let his arrow fly and it travelled an arm’s length before finding a home in the Carrier’s chest. The man grunted and fell back over the side. Dead or wounded, it didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be climbing up again. That’s one.
Eyul dropped his bow and reached for his Knife. The next Carrier found his footing and stood upright, a rusty sword levelled at Eyul’s chest. Eyul ducked as the man rushed him. Get in close. He drew his blade across the Carrier’s gut. Two. The old sword buried itself in the sand by his foot. Warm blood fell across his back.
A flash of blue to his right; scattering sand to his left. Two more Carriers came on the heels of their dead companions, trying to trap him between them. So fast. They clutched their small knives with confidence.
Another Carrier dragged Amalya from her camel and she screamed into the rising sun. Eyul couldn’t help her,
