Wartorn Obliteration

individual properties,' he said, adopting an oratory tone. 'These specific characteristics are very susceptible to magic. The blood can be influenced, so to speak. In a number of counterproductive ways.'

'Fascinating. How does it work?'

'If I were to take a sample of your blood and dab it onto a cloth and store it,' the wizard said, 'then later, whenever I wished, I could cast a spell that would affect the living blood in your body. More, your physical proximity would have no effect on the magic. In essence, you could flee to the far end of the Isthmus, and I would still be able to reach you.'

Deo gaped. Radstac, for the first time, shared some part of his astonishment.

'That's... diabolical,' he breathed.

Nievze nodded his agreement.

Radstac frowned. 'But what is the practical application of this magic?'

They both turned to look at her. Radstac could see in Nievze's eyes that he knew she wasn't trying to provoke him this time.

'It was a security measure,' he said. 'One dreamed up by a highly placed, politically powerful mage named Abraxis. You've heard of him?'

Radstac and Deo shook their heads. When Nievze had shown up at their door after curfew, having followed them from the tavern where they'd played that night, the two of them had maintained the pretense of being anti- Felk troubadours. Deo dropped the charade of being mentally deficient, and Radstac didn't fake her limp around Nievze, but otherwise the Felk deserter had no clue that they were actually working for Internal Security.

'Abraxis is a ruthless man,' Nievze continued, 'and his commitment to the success of the empire is equally fearsome. He arranged for samples of blood to be taken from each and every student who entered the Academy. Some of those students completed their training there, and some did not. But only the successful emerged alive. So now Abraxis has—inside that little red bag he always has, they say—the blood specimens of every wizard in the entire military. It's meant to ensure the total loyalty of the army's magicians. None of them dares turn against the empire, no matter how powerful they might be individually.'

Radstac had seen many wars in her day, petty though they were in comparison to this conflict. She had seen brutality. She had seen abundant bloodshed. But she had never imagined that magic could be perverted so, turned into such a vicious instrument.

She rose from the room's only other chair. Deo was sitting on the foot of the bed. The space was windowless and, if anything, even shabbier than their own quarters.

'We should go,' she said to Deo. 'We have to go play soon.'

He nodded reluctantly and stood. Nievze rose as well and said in that servilely thankful voice he seemed able to summon at will, 'Once more I give you my humblest thanks for the kindness you've showed me. Your humane nature is inspiring.'

Deo waved all this off. Back in Petgrad he had been renowned for his philanthropy. Radstac supposed it was simply his disposition that had led him to aid this wayward magician so generously. Nevertheless, Deo took the bottle of wine with them, Radstac noted, pleased.

They exited the room, made for the building's third level. Deo needed to collect his vox-mellifluous.

He paused on the groaning stairs, looked at her. 'You think I'm being foolish for supporting that man?'

Radstac nearly answered with a curt and simple yes. But she reconsidered and went through the unfamiliar process of allowing for another person's feelings. She finally said, 'Foolishly altruistic.' She even spoke it in a softer tone.

Deo pressed a smile from his lips. He nodded. 'He thought we were connected to the rebels that night he saw us play. He wanted to join up.'

Radstac shrugged. That was far less remarkable, in her view, than the fact that Nievze had scraped together on his own the price of a drink at that tavern. Apparently Nievze had undergone a change of heart regarding fighting; now, after having lived under the Felk occupation, he was ready to join the rebels.

Deo leaned nearer. The stairwell was dim, but his blue eyes seemed to have a light of their own at the moment. 'A rebel wizard. Don't you think that would be a valuable asset in this movement against the Felk?'

'I thought we were working for the Felk,' Radstac said with a tiny smirk.

'Aquint's playing his game, and I'm playing mine. Should I ask which game you're participating in?'

'Not if you ever want a feel of my flesh again in this lifetime,' she said facetiously; and even so, she was remotely stung that Deo would question her loyalty even in jest. She still considered her contract to him operative.

'I think he'll be... useful,' Deo said.

'And in the meantime you can keep him as a pet. Let's get your stringbox. We have songs of protest to perform and Callahan hearts to swell. Let's not disappoint anyone.'

* * *

It was called 'Callah Forever Free,' and it was among their catchiest songs, the melody borrowed from a bawdy ballad that concerned the endowments of a certain young female of frivolous sexual fidelity. Radstac sang the substitute words, and Deo made the music, and the patrons in the tavern gathered close as if to a warming fire.

Everyone was enjoying the performance. Everyone was properly stirred.

But it was during the second chorus of 'Callah Forever Free,' which the audience took up with her, that one figure rose to his feet and shot an accusing finger and shouted, 'Traitors!'

Deo continued winding the instrument's knob, but Radstac left off her singing, eyeing the man, more amused than startled. The patrons murmured among themselves. Radstac finally gestured to Deo, and the music went silent.

'Your treachery disgusts me!' the man roared.

Radstac took a swallow of water from the cup on the table next to her. The man was large, gruff of voice, but also rather aged, at least six tenwinters. Still, he was heavy across the shoulders, and his bearded face was contorted into a fierce visage.

'Why do you shay that?' Deo asked in that labored lisping voice. Radstac could feel his sudden tension, very much like someone ready to defend his lover from insult. She wanted to tell him not to take it personally.

'All your pretty prattling about how evil the Felk are. What good is it? Do you even know what you're talking about? Do you honestly believe conditions here in Callah are so bad now? I remember the times before they arrived. I remember how we were always wondering if this was the year we would go to war with Windal. Well, that's not likely to happen now, is it? Windal is under the same protective control as we are. One Felk city isn't going to attack another.'

'Oh, Saigot, either sit down or go away,' someone among the patrons said.

But Saigot wasn't done. Radstac doubted he had ever been a man who ceased talking before he'd said all he had to say.

'The Felk are probably still sweeping southward. We hear all kinds of rumors, of course. But if the Felk had been stopped—and who, I ask, could do that?—then I think we would know about it, even as isolated as we are. That means they are busy conquering more of the Isthmus. And I say that is the best thing that could happen!'

The patrons jeered, but no one stepped up to challenge Saigot directly. Radstac continued to watch and listen, interested. Here was a viewpoint she'd not yet encountered.

'I am a Callahan,' Saigot went on. 'Born and bred to this city and proud of it. But I am also an inhabitant of a greater state—that of the Isthmus itself. And that Isthmus has, for virtually all its history, been struggling and divided, teetering on the brink of internal destruction. Now the Felk will end all that. We will have one rule. We'll have final unity.'

It was, Radstac thought, as articulately bombastic as the inane songs she sang. This Saigot was simply arguing the other extreme end of the political gamut.

'And so,' he said, 'I say you two are traitors. And anyone who listens to this treasonous music is a traitor.'

Radstac set down her cup of water. The tavern was tensely silent as she stepped down from the small raised space in the corner. She was prepared for his bodily strength, not deceived into confidence by Saigot's age. But the big bearded man produced a knife from his coat and held it and swung it in a way that demonstrated he