All the Paths of Shadow

“What oath would you speak to us, imperiled mage?”

“No oaths,” said Meralda, aloud. The steady scratch-slide of ropes dragged across cobblestones grew louder. “No vows. You help me, or you don’t. The choice is yours.”

“No oath?” said one.

“No vow?” said another.

“Many would pledge their lives.”

“Many would offer their souls.”

Kervis took a step forward. Tervis did the same.

“One cannot deny she is brave.”

“One cannot deny she is wise.”

“I do not love these things of rope.”

“Nor I. Are we agreed?”

Meralda’s hands closed about two plain ironwood staves.

“Behold, Mage,” said one. “This is how.”

Meralda’s mind filled with wonders.

As one, the rope men charged, arms flailing like whips, legs looping up and out, ready to catch, ready to coil, ready to wrap and knot and choke.

Meralda’s Sight expanded, clarified, became an all-encompassing panorama that showed not just the ropes that bore down on her, but the spells that gave them shape and lent them motion.

Meralda laughed. Pure, wild, unfettered magic blazed suddenly through her veins, her heart, her mind. She marveled at the simplicity of it, at the ease with which she could form it, shape it, bend it to her will.

No equations. No diagrams. No symbols.

Just magic. Just will.

Just…this.

Meralda lifted Nameless and Faceless, crossing them above her head. Without even a word she loosed a wave of raw power that lifted the rope men like so many dry leaves, spinning them into a flailing tangle before incinerating rope and spells alike into a short-lived puff of golden incandescent air.

Every window for two blocks shattered. Horses bolted, dragging cabs and carriages up onto the sidewalks and sending them careening into storefronts and lamp posts. Two water mains burst, flooding streets and sending panicked crowds fleeing.

“Now the true test,” said one.

“Let us see,” said the other.

Meralda’s Sight raced. Everywhere, wonders lay hidden, coiled in impossibly small spaces she had never dreamed existed. Magic infused every stone, every brick, every breath of air, always in easy reach for anyone who dared seize it.

So easy, thought Meralda. So easy…

She heard voices. Distant, yes, and faint, but familiar, somehow. Friends, perhaps.

Voices full of concern.

Still, such power, so close, so simple to take.

“Ma’am, he’s hurt! Please! We need you right now!”

Someone tugged at Meralda’s sleeve.

Kervis. Kervis was speaking.

“Mr. Mug! Say something! Mr. Mug!”

Mug.

Meralda let go of the staves. They leaped into the sky, vanishing instantly, something very like approval hanging briefly in their wake.

Meralda’s head spun. She forced her Sight away, fell to her knees, blinked and squinted until she saw nothing but dirty cobblestones and the wild fearful eyes of Kervis and Tervis.

Kervis held Mug’s cage. He was carefully prying away the tangled bed sheet. Meralda gasped, her stomach knotting when she saw Mug’s bird cage was crushed nearly flat in the center.

Angis caught her by her shoulder, keeping her from toppling over.

“I think you got rid of the buggers, Mage,” he said. “You tend to your friend. I’ll watch your back.”

Tears welled up in Meralda’s eyes and she saw Mug’s motionless leaves caught in the bent bars of the bird cage.

One of his eyes stuck through the bars. It was crushed, and leaking sap.

“Oh Mug,” she said. “No, no, no.”

Kervis bent down, his dagger in his hand.

“I can pry the cage apart, ma’am,” he said. “Then we can get him out of there. Will you let me do that?”

Meralda managed to nod. She laid her hand on Mug’s crushed leaves, but he did not stir.

“Mug.”

Kervis gently pushed her hand aside, put the tip of his knife through the crushed cage’s frame, and then slowly pried up.

“Hold the other side,” he said, to Tervis.

The cage slowly expanded. After moving the knife, Kervis was able to pull it out far enough to remove the cage’s bottom, and free the motionless dandyleaf plant.

“Water!” bellowed Angis, at the circle of confused faces Meralda could just barely see through her tears. “A pitcher of water, man! Crown’s business!”

In a moment, a pitcher of water was thrust in Meralda’s hand.

She poured it onto the clump of dirt that had survived the blow. Mug’s roots trailed from it, limp and still.

Angis gripped her shoulder.

“A wee bit more, lass.”

Crying, Meralda emptied the pitcher.

Mug’s stalk twitched. His roots underwent a spasm, and then clutched hard at the clump of soil.

A single green eye opened, swiveled up to hang close to Meralda’s nose, and blinked.

“Please tell me you did bad things to whatever hit me,” he said, in a tiny, weak voice.

Meralda cried, unable to speak. She stroked Mug’s wilted leaves and nodded.

“I’ll need a new pot,” said Mug. His open eye began to wobble. “And some of that fancy Eryan peat.”

Booted feet charged up, and shouts to make way sounded.

“The guard is here,” said Kervis. “Keep an eye on them, little brother.” He sheathed his sword and turned to meet them.

“I’ll be going to bed now,” muttered Mug. “Don’t mind the dishes.”

Then his eye closed, slumped, and fell.

Meralda hugged him to her chest, wet roots and all.

“We’re here,” said Kervis, gently. “May I take him? The wards…”

Meralda managed a nod, and carefully handed a wilted, drooped Mug over to Kervis.

Forty special palace guards surrounded Meralda and the Bellringers, ringing them in steel. The captain himself stood at Meralda’s back while she opened the laboratory doors and spoke the word that soothed her wards.

“You lads go first,” said the captain. Meralda didn’t argue.

Mug groaned softly as she took his cage.

The guards closest to the stairs tensed and called for someone to halt. Meralda turned, watched Donchen slowly take the last pair of steps, his arms raised, his face grim and smeared with something dark.

Oil, thought Meralda. He’s got oil on his face.

“Let him through,” she said. The words caught in her throat the first time, and she had to lick her lips and take a breath and try again.

“I said let him through.”

The ring of guardsmen parted, and Donchen made his way to Meralda.

Donchen was filthy. His clothes were torn and streaked with filth. He stank of the gutters, and something